Fire Island rescue and play time.

Every year the (hellish) company I work for has a corporate picnic, changing the location of the park, to give each of our locations a break on traveling. This year, they held the picnic in New Jersey, in the land of far far away giving employees the option of being bussed, My friend Claire and I both opted not to go, feeling we needed a break from all the kooks that work with us, and for the company. Instead we decided to go to Fire Island for some much needed sun & sand time.
Fire Island, for those below the Mason Dixon line, Fire Island is 15 minutes (by ferry) off the coast of Long Island, and gets most of its notoriety due to a large homosexual population…but there are various beaches, a nature park, and it is family friendly as well. So being that I hadn’t been there since I was 9 years old decided it would be fun to check out.
So we headed off to F.I. and had the option of either cutting through the Sunken Forest (nature trail) or just hitting the beach. Finally deciding to do the Nature Trail (‘NATURE…it’s all over me!’ a`la Madagascar) went walking through and chatting away about the horrors of the company. About ¼ of the way through we hear a woman calling for help as her daughter stood by crying. Long story short, the woman had fallen off the boardwalk, and broken her ankle. We didn’t think we’d be able to call 9-1-1, so instead I ran aaaaalllllllll the way back to the ranger station for help. Then we ran aaaaalllll the way back. Sure enough once the emt’s got there they established she did in deed break her ankle. If it wasn’t for Claire and me wandering through, who knows how long the woman and her daughter would have been there.
After that, we hit the beach and spent several hours soaking up the sun, drinking some adult cocktails, and floating in the ocean. The only thing that stunk was the flies kept biting, and it hurt…but it was a great day. Around 3-ish Claire noticed that yours truly was turning into a tomato…and we decided we have had enough. So once again we board the ferry to go home, and my Aerosmith tattoo is poking out of the tankini. Not that I knew it at the moment. But as I sat talking to Claire felt a timid little poke-poke-poke in my arm. I turn, and there’s the cutest little boy and he mouth’s something. So I cock my head and ask him ‘what?’ and in a very soft voice, he say’s ‘Aerosmith’. Obviously spotting my tattoo. So I stuck up a conversation with him, and found out he was 11 years old, and LOVES Aerosmith…even going to go to the same concert I am going to. So to cap the day, not only was I sunburned, but picked up by an 11 year old. I don’t know if I should feel flattered or scared.