To the Editor:
My son, daughter-in-law and four grandchildren are visiting me from New Orleans this week.
I went to get them visitor passes today. Getting into the country is far easier than entering a Villages pool.
They give you a form which requires your Village’s ID #, lot # and some other number I just guessed and put down.
Then I got to the “visitors section” and put down as much as I could remember. I was questioned by the border patrol, I mean lady at the desk because I did not commit to memory my son’s zip code and date of birth of each member of the crew of six. I was immediately escorted to the gym and required to bench 350/6 times, then placed in the back of the line. I tried to joke with the patrol agent but she was all business. She instructed if I didn’t know the DOB #’s next time, I’d have to fill out the forms all over again…a fate worse than death itself.
This experience reminds me of the time three of my fraternity brothers came to visit me not too long ago. We all play golf so I went through the “guest pass” process. I didn’t know their dates of birth or zip codes either. I injured my leg prior to their visit doing something I could routinely do 20 years ago before grandfather time came knocking, so I signed up for 9 holes. A couple of holes past us making the turn, a cart Nazi, I mean Ambassador, stopped us and asked to see our receipt. I could tell this was a guy who never had a manager title until now and he was going to exercise it to the full extent. He looked up after examining the receipt. “Who only paid for 9 holes” he barked. “Actually I paid for all these clowns” I responded, “but I’m only playing 9 holes.” “How do I know you paid for 9 but are really playing 18?” he questioned. “Because I just told you,” I said, starting to get that little cramp in the back of my neck to subside. “Then where is your spectator’s badge?,” he ordered. “Spectator Badge? Is that like a merit badge?” I quipped, the back of my neck feeling like I tried to button one of Adam Schiff’s shirts around my neck. I mean I was a Boy Scout when it was the Boy Scouts. Anyway, I learned, there is a rule for everything here in The Villages and a badge to go with it. When will the Morses have a mandatory 2 week course on the rules and a test after? If you don’t pass, you can’t buy the house? Answer? Never. To get into the country from the south, just snip a wire and, presto, you’re one of us. I think I’ll exercise Villages Rule #62 now – taking a nap.
Ed Magenheimer
Village of Bridgeport at Lake Sumter
