A few years ago, I met a woman from New York at one of Moab's more popular greasy spoons. She looked fatigued, worn out...defeated. I asked her what was wrong and she replied, "You people around here really hate tourists don't you?"

"What?" I exclaimed. I told her, certainly not! "Tourists are the life blood of the community," I schmoozed.

"Well then, explain this. First they got mad at me out at that Arches Park because I told them they should really provide toiletry kits to visitors using the rest rooms. Then, at the post office, I suggested that tourists should be able to go ahead of other people because we're in more of a hurry. And finally, at the gas station, I'd meant to buy the unleaded regular but put the supreme in my car instead. When I asked them to pump the expensive gas out and replace it with what I wanted in the first place, the man just stood there and stared at me...I mean...what was his problem?"

I just stood there and stared at her.

"You're right, lady. You'll be lucky if you get out of town alive. I have a good mind to throttle you myself."

She fled for the door and was never seen again.

I am not a member of the Moab Chamber of Commerce.

While many tourists fear being bitten by rattlesnakes and scorpions, it's true that there's no bite like a Moabite's. I live in a tourist town which is one of the weirdest places a person can choose to live on this planet. On any given day, half the population of Moab is occupied by people who don't live here. And because human beings are always a little unsure and uncomfortable in unfamiliar settings, it gives the impression that tourists, by and large, represent the dumbest subculture in our so-called Global Society.

But this is not fair. At least not completely. Having been a tourist myself in places where I felt like a fish out of water...or is it a duck? I can never get that simile right...I realize that you tourists simply need a helping hand. A recent trip to New York reminded me just how stupid I could be when away from my native stomping ground. Anyway you need some guidance. A few subtle hints that just might keep you from making total asses out of yourselves. I'm here to help. In order to survive, you must not only learn how to deal with Mother Nature, you need to learn how to deal with us.

The difficulties you'll encounter as tourists are often related to the methods you've chosen to convey yourselves. What I mean is, the ways you can incur the wrath of a local when you're driving a 38 foot motorhome are very different from the ways you can annoy us by riding a bicycle, for instance. Let's consider the possibilities...

MOM & POP & THE OBSCENELY LARGE MOTORHOME/TRAVEL TRAILER

I'm sorry to say you tourists who travel in these large mechanical monsters have two strikes against you at the outset, because you're so...well...damn BIG. I mean some of you drive wheeled palaces that are bigger than the modest homes we common folk live in all the time. I saw a Diesel-powered deluxe 45 foot motorhome the other day that I learned was priced at $250,000. I'm saving up and I'm going to buy two!

So to you wealthy weasels in mechanical mansions, all I can advise is that you not make things any worse than they already are. Try not to draw attention to yourselves. (That's a good one.) When you pull into a crowded grocery parking lot, don't park your rig diagonally across eight or nine normal parking spaces, forcing the rest of us to park at the back of the lot.

You park at the back of the lot. The walk'll do you good.

If you're in a national park campground, don't fire up your Briggs & Stratton generator and ask the ranger to help align your satellite disk. Rangers are now heavily armed and many of them are extremely unstable and on medication or very bored with their jobs and on medication. The two conditions being interchangeable.

Unless you are M.A. Marooney's father, do not activate the loud speaker system on your motorhome and broadcast, from one end of town to the other, the greatest hits from Debby Reynolds' big opening in Las Vegas during those crazy salad days of 1973.

If you and your wife are the proud owners of a large RV as I have described and you, like many other large recreational vehicle owners, prefer to wear matching royal-blue Mickey and Minnie Mouse jump suits when traveling and you want to take a drive into the La Sal Mountains in the fall to look at the autumn colors, don't do it. Hunters in the area may see the flash of royal-blue and mistake you for Lycra-clad mountain bikers, and shoot you with high-powered rifles. Play it safe. Show off your outfits in the relative safety of your commercial campark.

Do not twist off and get crazy, just because a campground doesn't have a dumping station. Never aim your raw sewage hose at the ranger; it won't change the situation and he has a limited clothing allowance.

Be humble.

EUROPEAN TOURISTS WHO DRIVE 1975 FORD STATION WAGONS

Der Kampingplatz ist voll!

Ubernachten ist verboten!

That's all the German I know.

For some reason, many European visitors have taken to buying beat up old station wagons when they arrive in New York or L.A. and use them to tour the country or until they blow up. But the station wagon is how I've learned to spot our European friends. In any case, the foreign tourist offers a completely different set of challenges to the intolerant local. If you are from the Old Country and you are concerned about international relations, here is what you can do to improve them.

If you are at the grocery store and you're ready to pay for your goods, remember: you have to go to the back of the line. It's a silly custom we have here, but you can't go to the front of the line when there are already people in the line. If you violate this custom, it's called "butting in line," and Americans despise a line butt-er. And, for crying out loud, if someone points out your error to you and suggests you do something about it, don't excuse yourself by saying, "It is alright...vee are German." (He said it...not me.)

Don't do that. As the former assistant superintendent of Canyonlands National Park once said, "We whupped you twice, and we'll whupp you again."

On another topic and, I must admit, from a male perspective, if you are a guy and you intend to mingle with other people in public places, put some damn clothes on will you? Yeesh. Most of you don't have the physique for it anyway. But do you know how ridiculous you look walking around town with nothing on but a pair of bikini briefs, a gold chain, a scrubby goatee, and a cowboy hat? Most of you don't even have a tan. Have a heart.

And now, the most delicate subject of all: personal hygiene. I realize that European custom is different when it comes to bathing. And there's something to be said for cleanliness to the point of obsession being an unhealthy practice. Frankly, I like to go a few days without a shower myself from time to time. All I ask is this...if your bathing habits are tied to...let's say, the phases of the moon, and you're in the midst of a large crowd, do not raise your arms above your head. Keep them firmly at your side. Do not wave to anybody.

Thank you. And be humble.

THE YUPPIE/BOOMER COUPLE WITH THE
OBNOXIOUS, SPOILED KIDS IN A BMW

Well, you waited to have kids until you were financially secure. First the Beemer...then Beavis and Butthead. Now you want to show them the American West, recreating the great trip you remember taking with your parents almost 30 years ago.

But you spoiled the little buggers rotten and now they rarely look up from their Gameboys to check out the scenery and when they do, they articulate the experience as best they can by saying, "This sucks."

Sure you'd like to kill them. So would we.

But we can't. Even if you think it's the best thing for yourselves, for us, and humanity in general, you cannot take them down to our world famous Colorado River, put them in a pillow case and throw them in the water, the way some Moabites have been disposing of their excess cats for decades. Well...you could, but as Richard Nixon once said, "It would be wrong."

Besides, you parents spoiled the little greedy monsters in the first place. If anyone should "do the Daily" in a pillowcase, it's you.

I am not a parent.

But seriously, some of these kids need to be conscripted into military service or something. If you've brought the kids on vacation, take away their electronic games. Remove from their clutches, their own personal cell phones. Make them get out of the car and look around. Don't turn them loose on our streets either; we have enough of a gang problem already. At night, when you've gone down to McStiff's for a wheat ale, don't leave them in the motel room to watch cable TV. Get them a copy of Desert Solitaire, and tell them if they don't read it, you'll bring them over to my house and I'll read to them. The complete works of Edward Abbey over and over and over...until they get it.

Teach your children humility. And yourselves.

OUR ECONOMIC SALVATION: THE MOUNTAIN BIKER

If you're a mountain biker, do not tell us you are our town's economic salvation. You may get a response from some locals like, "Salvation this, you bubble-headed spandex freak!"

Or some other such pleasantry.

Please keep in mind that while Moab has been designated the "Mountain Bike Capitol of the World," probably less than 10% of Grand County's population actually rides a bicycle. Most of us still ride pickup trucks, dip snuff and spit out the window. Many of our elected officials still think wilderness is a commie trick. And yet, in just such a town as this, on any given day, half the men seen on the street are wearing brightly colored tights.

If you ever feel the desire to "blend in," slip a pair of Levis over your lycra, complain about all those damn espresso shops, and say ugly things about Hillary or something. We locals will embrace you and invite you home for supper.

But don't tell us you are our economic salvation.

Here's another tip. When you're sitting around the campfire on a Friday night up on the Sand Flats and some of our local boys drive by in their pickups and shout thoughtless epithets at you, don't respond by giving them the finger or mooning them. If you perform such gestures, you need to remember we have some teenage boys in this county who are almost as stupid as you are. Life is cheap out here in the wooly West. The things they'd like to do to your titanium frame bikes defy description ("Titanium this!" It's a variation on a theme.).

Finally, don't wear lycra if you don't have the bod for it...men and women alike. In fact, men are by far the greater offenders, especially when they have no butt. Have you ever seen a guy wearing lycra and he has no ass and his lycra drawers are all droopy in the back? Yes, I am a heterosexual male, and I try not to notice but it's like police photos of a bad car wreck. You're disgusted but you look anyway. If you are a buttock-free person, try overalls.

And don't tell us you saved our economy. Be humble.

MISCELLANEOUS TIPS

Try to avoid asking stupid questions. Actually, there's one question you should always ask yourself before you pose another one to someone else. That question is: Can I figure this out on my own? For example, before you ask for directions to the bathroom at the Arches Visitor Center, did you actually make an attempt to look yourself? Did you rotate your head from side to side and look for the international symbols? If you didn't and asked the nice ranger anyway and she glared coldly at you and said, "outside and to the left," you have no one to blame but yourself.

Or how about this one. Have you ever had the moronic nerve to ask, "What time does the wind stop?" You see, there are not meteorological tables that provide that kind of information. It's not like sunrise/sunset, OK?

And unless you want to die an early and painful death, don't ask Pat at the post office if she's posted tomorrow's mail yet. It's doubtful if she'll post tomorrow's mail today. She'll probably post it...tomorrow. Get it?

And here's another one. Don't go into a Moab restaurant, take over a table or two, and then tell the waitress you don't want to order anything because you brought your own food and merely came inside to get out of the weather. "You know...we're having our picnic inside...and it's not our fault. No one would tell us when the wind would stop."

BE HUMBLE

This is the key to everything. If I have sounded harsh, or somewhat intolerant of tourists, you've misunderstood my intentions. I know how dopey tourists can be because I become a dopey tourist every time I leave home. I've humiliated myself from one end of this country to the other, in ways I didn't think were possible, and am only now beginning to appreciate the true value of groveling. Practical experience has taught me that humility is a beautiful thing and takes the sting out of stupidity. Humans will forgive damn near anybody for being stupid, if they'll just admit it. It's arrogant stupid people, the deadliest combination of all, that make my blood boil.

So the next time you invoke the ire of a Moabite simply because you were confused or just because you've put your brain on hold during summer vacation, do what I did when my own confusion angered a cab driver in New York. He was about to toss me out of his cab and I said, "Look I'm screwed. I'm an idiot...I'm from UTAH!"

His mood changed, his eyes glowed with compassion. He never uttered another harsh word. With a few modifications, you can save your butt too.

If you have one. Good luck out there.

 

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