BeWareham

In between the town I grew up in and the town I live in now, there is a town called Wareham. A small town near the edge of the Atlantic Ocean, Wareham has many residential beaches, a relatively new high school, and a small Main Street downtown. Sometimes looked upon as the Gateway to the Cape, this nickname has lent itself to the Wareham Gatemen, the towns entry in the Cape Cod League. The Cape Cod League is the best amateur wooden bat league in the country, but I'm not talking about that right now. Today's topic is Wareham, the town and its citizens. Never has a town so blessed geographically been so cursed by its citizens. Not everyone IN Wareham is bad...I think its just the people who have lived there their entire lives. Regardless, these are not the sort of people you want around...let's take a closer look.

Warehaminians(?) are some of the most despicable creatures I have ever encountered. Its not that there is an over abundance of crime, or that the city is run down or shabby looking. Its just that most of the residents don't give a shit about anything or anyone. You just get a bad vibe from almost everyone in the town. I have met my share of Wareham residents, and while a few border normal, the vast majority are scumbags. Why, you may ask, do I speak in such a negative manner about a town? Here is why:

The first time I realized I didn't care for Wareham was when I started playing in the Babe Ruth baseball league. Before this time, my home field had always been in Rochester. Now we had to play games in Wareham. I didn't like going there because the infield had patches of grass and the roughest stone dust ever produced by humans. The outfield had no fence, went on for ever, and was made up of grass that was brown on good days and none-existant on bad ones. I know its just a baseball field, but over time it came to represent all that was wrong with Wareham

(Wareham: Gateway to Hell)

I have seen more domestic arguments at the local Hollywood video than I care to remember. The most recent one involved a kid who's mother had the audacity to tell him he couldn't rent a video game. The kid starting crying, louder and louder, until his mother popped him across the mouth with a King Size package of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. The stunned kid shut his mouth until he left the store with his mom, who had rented a Queen Latifah movie for him to enjoy.

This one got my head spinning so much I had to pull over to let the dizziness wear off. Enjoying a nice ride in the car can be very difficult when your eyes tell you that you are on Earth, but your mind says you are elsewhere. I saw an old woman, probably in her 60's with several shawls draped over her shoulders, walking her dog and cat. At the same time. One leash in each hand. Now admittedly, dogs and cats can get along with each other, but the whole scene makes you feel like you are in Bizarro World.

In Wareham, it is illegal to sell blunt wraps (so I hear). Blunt wraps are basically cigar paper without the tobacco in it. They are used to re-roll the cigars with something else inside. Regardless,while it is against town law to sell these in Wareham, stores are free to sell glass pipes and other drug paraphenalia. Ummm, how does that make sense Wareham? Why is everything about your existence ass-backwards? I can just see the P.T.A. mom or D.A.R.E. van driving officer who instituted the blunt wrap rules. They must be devistated to learn that while a person cannot easily roll a blunt in town, they can have 3 of their best friends over to hit the new Hookah.

The girls in Wareham. O my God...you wouldn't believe it. No, I'm not talking about college age girls, or even girls in high school. I'm talking 12 years old...13 maybe. Usually, I'm open to anything; if someone has a resonable explaination for something, I will listen. But nobody can talk me into believing its ok for a girl going into junior high to be wearing a tube top, cut off shorts (with holes in strategic places),hooker boots, and enough makeup where if a clown car drove by, she could get in and be under the big top by night. How can you let your daughter walk outside the house looking like she's auditioning for the junior high drama club's version of Pretty Woman? If there is even the outside possibility that my daughter will be propositioned on the way to Spelling or Reading class, she's not going to school. This girl was only out for a Sunday walk with one of her similiarly dressed rag-a-muffin friends; I shudder to think what she wears to school dances.

I have something to say about LeBaron convertables. If you have ever owned one, do not take this personally. I proudly captain a road boat, so I am not one to judge. However, I did see a typical Wareham youth driving through town in a Lebaron convertable yesterday. By 'typical Wareham youth' I mean the white kid had two stud earrings, a doo-rag, and a size 9 black fitted Sox hat for his 7 3/8ths head. He had one of his homies in the front seat, and a bitch in the back. All the passengers looked to be in high school. It is difficult to act hard in a Lebaron, but besides his appearance this youngblood upped the ante by testing the limits of the stock Chrystler speaker system...with Reggaeton provided by Jam'N 94.5. Nothing can ruin a beautiful afternoon like a poseur blasting bad music, acting the fool.

It seems that you cannot truly fit in at a Wareham bar if you don't have some sort of physical scar from an outlandish injury, a.k.a. a non-battle scar. By that I don't mean bullet wounds or stab marks from a drunken night out with the boys. I mean something like losing a finger on a fishing boat out of New Bedford, a self-made tattoo made with a hot paperclip and road tar, or perhaps its a limp caused by a catastrauphic leg injury causedy by getting a leg caught up in a tractors nuts. Whatever it is, it makes you, as a relatively un-scarred person, feel like going into the parking lot and kneeling on broken glass just to fit in. When you can't enjoy a drink because you feel as if the family from The Hills Have Eyes is staring you down...its time to call it a night.

On the way to work yesterday, I saw a car pulled over in the breakdown lane. As I continued driving, I noticed an older man standing in front of the car. As I continued on, I noticed grandpa had his dick in his hand, pissing on the rumble strips. If you stop by the side of the highway to piss, you go in the woods. In my entire life I never considered the possibility that someone would do that...especially at 9 in the morning. Grampa had such disregard for everyone around him that he just did whatever he wanted. It just seems like something that would happen in Wareham, that's all.

Finally, there is a section of Wareham that residents named Shangri-La. If 'Wareham' and 'Shangri-La' isn't the best example of an oxymoron, I don't know what is...it evens tops Jumbo Shrimp. I have a friend who lives there; he's got an nice house in a nice quiet neighborhood. Shangri-La, however, is the fictional name of a mystical valley nestled in the Himilayan moutains. It is supposed to be a utopian place, a spot that is secluded from the outside world and is always happy. Wareham is neither a mystical or perpetually happy. Also, you can't just arbitrarily name a section of town Shangri-La when it couldn't be further from the truth. Having a Shangri-La in Wareham is like a town in Iowa being named Seaspray Bay; There is neither seaspray or a bay. Similarly, there is no place worthy of the name Shangri-La in Wareham.

I could go on and on about this town, but what good would it do? Nothing is ever going to be different. I predict Wareham will continue to go downhill, recessing eventually into a town like Lawrence or Lynn Lynn, the city of sin. I hope that doesn't happen, but I feel it is inevitable. If you live in the area, use this as a reminder to avoid the town at all costs. If you have never been, now you know not to go there. If my words can help save just one life, my work will not have been done in vein.