Every summer, my high school friends and I spend a weekend together, in part to remember our great friend Marcus, who died tragically in the summer of 2000. For the past few years, we would rent a lake house about an hour outside of Atlanta. It’s generally considered the best weekend we spend every year. For a few of my friends, it’s the only time I get to see them, as they have moved out to New York or L.A.
This summer was different, however, as one of our friends, Mark (who hasn’t made it for the past few years since moving to Dallas), was getting married in Amelia Island, about 6 hours away from Atlanta off the coast of Florida. We decided to move the dates of the MRMGT (Marcus Ray Memorial Golf tournament [golf is rarely played]) to this weekend in August (normally in July). What we didn’t count on is a tropical storm called Fay.
The 5 of us (Dan, Lance, Kyle, Steve, & myself) arrive at our beach house Thursday evening. The first sign that it’s going to be an interesting weekend is that there is a tree, blown down on it’s side, blocking the entire entrance to the neighborhood.
Once around the tree, we arrive at our beach house, only to find no key in the lock box (where the owners said the key would be located.)
So, we call the owner, who tells us that she wasn’t expecting us until tomorrow (even though our paperwork said exactly what day we were coming on… I believe what she really meant was “I wasn’t expecting you guys until after the TROPICAL STORM was over.”)
She tells us, however, that she’ll call her friend John Holmes, who lives down the street to come bring a key. Well, about fifteen minutes pass (of all 5 of us standing on a very small porch in the pouring down rain), and no John Holmes. So, we call back and she tells us that she can’t reach John Holmes, but will send someone from Jacksonville, an hour away, to come bring a key.
We decide to hit up the store to buy some groceries while we wait on the key. It takes us about two hours and we get back and still no key. So, we call back and the owner gives us the number of Mr. Ed, the person who will be bringing us the key. We call Mr. Ed and a woman answers. She tells us that she doesn’t know how to get to the house, and can we give her directions (we, who have only been there once). So, we just tell her to sit tight and we’ll come meet her.
Around this time, the owner calls to check in and we tell her the story, that it’s not Mr. Ed, but some woman who is lost on the way to the house, and that we’re about to meet up with her. The owner, at this point, is very confused.
We meet up with the woman, and it turns out, the woman is in fact Mr. Ed, and Mr. Ed just happens to have a very high pitched voice. Whoops.
So, Mr/Mrs. Ed follows us back to the house to make sure we get in. The key fits, and all is good. We wave goodbye to Mr. Ed, and are at this point joking, very loudly about our mistake with Mr. Ed’s voice when the doorbell rings. We answer, and of course, it’s John Holmes looking very confused and holding a key.
We tell John Holmes that Mr. Ed just dropped off the key and that we’re all good. John Holmes seemed to have no idea who Mr. Ed was, but nodded and walked away confusedly.
Tune in next time for Power Outages! Midnight Tropical Storm Swimming! America’s First All Black Beach! And More!