Jun 3, 2016 3 min read

Last weekend, I was on the boardwalk in Virginia Beach. I was soaking up rays of sunshine, listening to the waves crash in the surf and, above all, people watching. Sightseeing the sightseers. A tourist of tourists.

Technically, I was also a tourist, but a long time ago, I lived in Virginia, disqualifying me from being an actual tourist. I had a Virginia driver’s license.

But I digress, like I do. I was enjoying my favorite spectator sport: watching other humans in their natural habitat.

There were street performers. I found most of them unimpressive. We’re still doing the robot? Guys are still breakdancing with beatboxes? Ho hum. I did give a dollar to a random dude who did a backflip. Mostly, I handed him a buck to enrage the actual street performers and to make his girlfriend laugh. Mission accomplished, by the way. Most of the street performers were waiting around for a big crowd to gather before they started. Mission not accomplished.

One act impressed me. I did see a guy jump through a hoop of fire while balancing on a giant yoga ball. He had his kid carnival barking for him. The kid said, “If you drop a dollar in the hat, I get to go to college. If you drop more money in the hat, I don’t have to go to college.” The duo was wallet-worthy.

I moved on, enthralled by the people on the street. A multitude of men, women and children walking up and down the boardwalk.

I love people, but not in large groups. They make me kind of crazy. So, I put the mental in judgmental.

There was the guy who walked with his arms straight at his sides like Michael Flatley, Lord of the Dance (I’m reaching deep, deep down in my reference bag for that one).

There was the loud wife who ordered her meek husband about.

There was a guy who looked scary, but helped a drunken man wobble over to a park bench. It was a sweet gesture I didn’t expect from a guy in a Tupac T-shirt. The adage about books and covers remains true.

I got to one particular corner, between street performers and outdoor bands, where I found a street preacher. He was on a tirade about hell. I almost felt sorry for him, because no one was paying attention. I kept thinking he would have been more successful if he had been on the boardwalk asking people to pray for our fallen soldiers on Memorial Day weekend, instead of threatening fire and brimstone. I hear you can catch more Christians with honey than with vinegar, or something like that.

Had he been an experienced priest, minister or clergyman he could have stopped me in my tracks with a simple, “Judge not, lest ye be judged.” After all, when you’re people watching, it’s kind of hard not to swing that gavel down. I’m going to go easy on the people from now on. After all, we were all out there on the boardwalk, enjoying the surf, the sun and saltwater taffy.