The Friendliest (Drunk) Man in Tybee Island, GA

“It’s 5'oclock somewhere.”

Tybee Island, GA. It wasn’t at all what I was expecting. The stories my grandmother and aunt told me, the pictures of them posing on the beach in their oh-so retro swimsuits as they leaned up against my grandfather’s car. The picturesque lighthouses and serene beaches I saw online. It wasn’t like that at all.

As we drove through Savannah, GA and headed into Tybee Island, my husband, two children, mom and I were very excited to have a nice relaxing day at the beach. And then we hit traffic, beach boulevard-type traffic.

For every parking space that opened, there was a car in front of us taking it. We debated parking in an unofficial space (a.k.a. someone’s yard), but since we had no idea where the closest impound was, we decided against it. And so we continued on, in traffic, for what felt like hours.

People walked by us faster than we drove, going into shops and coming out with their bags full. Then there was the drunk man, in his neon yellow shorts, white tank top, and a straw hat. He was very tan, as if he’d fallen asleep on the beach—beer in hand—a time too many.

It wasn’t even 11:30am yet and he was stumbling around like they had kicked him out at closing time. He was very friendly though, he politely apologized to every person he bumped into (and a few parked cars). He tried to spark a conversation with the ladies as he wobbled by, like he was some catch in his condition. All they could do was laugh as they scurried away. (If only they knew him like we did.)

Finally we found a parking place and walked into Lighthouse Pizza for lunch. We’d had our hearts set on it since the first time we circled the block, more than an hour before. I remember that we were all so very thirsty by this time—the kind of thirsty that, when you finally get your drink, it’s the best thing you ever tasted. The kind of thirsty that, even after five glasses and three trips to the bathroom, you politely ask for a to-go cup of the deliciousness.

And then we saw him again. The drunk guy was walking into the restaurant! “Kids, stop laughing and whatever you do, don’t cause attention to yourself and please don’t say anything embarrassing,” I half-threatened. He was friendly, indeed; he waved to the waitstaff and a few customers as he stumbled past us and out onto the back patio.

Tybee Island might not have been what we were expecting, but if we ever go back, we’ll be sure to look for the drunk man in his neon shorts and straw hat.