I spent Sunday afternoon at Heinz Beach, one of the Chautauqua Institution’s three main swimming spots on the lake.  It’s not much of a beach really, with nothing more than a grass lawn sloping down to the murky water and a narrow dock extending out to a buoy-encircled swimming area.  But it does provide the two essential components of a beach: water that gets you wet, and land to get you warm under the sun.  On my Sunday at the beach, I had my chair stolen twice.

I had spotted an old rubber folding recliner on one of the dock’s outcroppings, and, seeing it unused, set it up on the lawn and kicked back in comfort.  After about twenty minutes of reclining, a young man approached and politely informed me that I was sitting in his mother’s chair.  Naturally, I was overly friendly and apologetic and as he took the chair back to the dock, I planted myself awkwardly on my towel and felt much less comfortable than before.

After depositing the chair on its dock the young man walked away.  I lay somewhat uncomfortably on the grass for some time until I decided to migrate to the shade, picking up one of the deck chairs that seemed publicly available, and setting up under a big tree with my book.  I was comfortable and made some progress in the book and generally felt satisfied to be down by the water on such a beautiful day.

After about 45 minutes of lounging (punctuated every quarter of an hour by the ringing bells from the Chautauqua bell tower), I took a look at the dock where my evictor had placed his mother’s chair, and noticed that it was lying there unused.  I was upset to realize what had actually just happened: the chap had been walking by, noticed that his mom’s chair was being used by somebody else, and took it upon himself to secure it for her.  This righteous maneuver was not in preparation for the imminent arrival of his mother—indeed I suspect he may not have known whether or not his mom would be coming down at all that day.  Nevertheless he decided that his mother’s chair should not be used to support the weight of some stranger, and instead should be respected as HER chair and left untouched until SHE saw fit to use it.  Not only should the chair be left waiting, but the entire off-shoot of the dock should also be reserved as HER spot for whenever SHE decided to venture down to the water.

Unjust, I would say.  Fortunately I had my new chair and was happily planted in the shade.  Soon I noticed the lifeguard collecting her paraphernalia and heading for shore.  She stopped to talk to the sunbathers on deck and I gathered that she was closing up shop.  As she continued carting things back to storage more and more people started arriving.  One family came bustling down the hill fully prepared for a day at the beach and looked at the lifeguard as she packed up with dismay.  The dad approached and said “Ms. Lifeguard?!?  Why is this beach closed?”.  I couldn’t hear her explanation but it obviously wasn’t satisfactory as he stormed off and led his troop down to the deck anyway.  “Swim at your own risk” I overheard her say to another crew who approached.  Ironically, whereas minutes before the guard had been sitting watching one solitary old lady climb slowly on to and off of the floating dock, there were now nearly 10 people in the water, many of them children splashing about in bright green inner-tubes.

Ms. lifeguard continued to batten down the hatches, returning signs, backboards, and rescue rings.  As she stacked the group of chairs to which my current seat belonged, I slowly realized that my days of comfort were once again coming to an end.  Sure enough, she headed my way in a businesslike fashion, I turned over the chair in an overly-cheerful fashion, and seeing that momma had finally taken up position in her throne on the dock, I took one last dip and headed for home.