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Consumer Watchdog: Customer’s troubles are washed away by Voitek, Electrolux

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Happy birthday Ava Marie Pate!

<p>WILKES-BARRE &#8212; I guess it&#8217;s true, the older you get the less tolerant you get of things like hot, humid temperatures.</p><p>When I was a kid, my pals and I lived for those sunny, hot days. We would play ball, hike, play games and then top it off with a swim before we went to our Little League game.</p><p>Today, all I can say is thank God for air conditioning.</p><p>Our recent heat wave, if you will, seems to be much more intolerable than I remember from my younger days. I recall heading to the Jersey shore almost every weekend to frolic in the sun and carouse at night.</p><p>But now, well, let&#8217;s say I love the beach except for the sand and saltwater.</p><p>A few bad experiences &#8212; one in particular &#8212; have lessened my level of affection for the beach.</p><p>It was in Ocean City, Maryland, where I really lost my love for the seashore. I decided to wade into the waves off the point there on what apparently was a day of rather high turbulence.</p><p>Anyway, as George Costanza from &#8220;Seinfeld&#8221; famously said in the marine biologist episode, &#8220;The sea was angry that day, my friends, like an old man trying to send back soup in a deli.&#8221;</p><p>After negotiating the waves for a bit, having them slam into me time and again, I got used to the ocean again. Actually, it was fun riding the waves.</p><p>And then those waves got really angry.</p><p>One wave tossed me like a cork, down into the ocean&#8217;s bottom. I recovered, but before I could clear my water-filled lungs, another one &#8212; seemingly more powerful than a locomotive &#8212; slammed me from behind. I went down to the ocean&#8217;s floor again, this time with my head driven into the sand.</p><p>Just when I thought I may never figure out which way was up, I surfaced. I had sand in my bathing suit and seaweed in my mouth. One of my swim shoes was gone. And I had swallowed way too much saltwater.</p><p>As I staggered to the shoreline, two older ladies sitting on beach chairs immediately felt sorry for me. &#8220;Awww, look, he lost a shoe,&#8221; one said.</p><p>At that very moment, my missing shoe washed up to shore &#8212; like the sea was saying, &#8220;Here, take back your shoe. And don&#8217;t ever disrespect me again.&#8221;</p><p>I gathered up the shoe and tried to restore whatever dignity I had left as I searched for my towel. My friends &#8212; yes, friends &#8212; had witnessed this entire event. Some were in the ocean, others on the beach, all of them laughing hysterically. None of them realized, or cared, I had almost drowned.</p><p>I ignored them, got my towel, dried myself off and returned to the hotel where I showered and took a nap. When I awoke, there was a pounding in my head &#8212; the angry sea had not left me. Some saltwater got trapped in my inner ear and it became infected &#8212; adding to the joy of this trip to the beach. Which, by the way, began with my friend&#8217;s car being struck by an out-of-control vehicle driven by a kid who said he couldn&#8217;t stop.</p><p>I haven&#8217;t returned to the ocean since. That&#8217;s sad because I do have some fond memories of the ocean.</p><p>Anybody my age whoever went to Wildwood in the 60s and 70s remembers Uncle Lou&#8217;s &#8212; nothing like breakfast at Uncle Lou&#8217;s after a day on the beach and a night on the town. So many great times there, meeting friends back home, or new friends from places as far away as Montreal.</p><p>But I always preferred Sandy Beach over the Jersey shore. Fresh water over salt water. A half-hour drive over three hours.</p><p>Even at the shore, I preferred to hang out at the swimming pool at the motel rather than on the beach.</p><p>These days, I&#8217;d rather enjoy the great outdoors from inside my air-conditioned car or through the windows of my air-conditioned home.</p><p>While I still feel my generation, for the most part, remains vibrant, there are adjustments that seem to come as a result of getting older. We still like to dance and go to concerts and have a drink or two.</p><p>But 90 degrees and high humidity just aren&#8217;t for me.</p><p>As I bask in my air conditioning, I fear a power failure. That just might send me back to the beach.</p><style>
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<div class="neCaption">Bill O&#8217;Boyle </div></div><div class="metaInfo"><photo0>https://www.timesleader.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/07/web1_Columnshot-1-1-1-1.jpg</photo0><caption0>Bill O&#8217;Boyle </caption0><photoCredit0></photoCredit0></div></div>
<div class="metaInfo"><bylineMeta><p>By Bill O&#8217;Boyle</p><p>boboyle@www.timesleader.com</p></bylineMeta></div><div class="metaInfo"><shirttailMeta><p>Reach Bill O&#8217;Boyle at 570-991-6118 or on Twitter @TLBillOBoyle, or email at boboyle@www.timesleader.com.</p></shirttailMeta></div>

Beyond the Byline: Is it hot enough for you?