Life its own self
You know you're a Pensacolian when ...
By Gary E. Smith

You don't bat an eye when they name a street after a county commissioner that is still doing time.

You can instinctively determine the exact direction of the wind from the smell off of the sewer treatment plant.

You stop correcting the typos and English grammar errors in the local paper - it's just too much to keep up with.

You truly believe that the answer "economic growth" is another military museum. Cruise ships are just too much trouble.

Local lawyers place advertisements above the urinal in the men's room - next to the escort services.

It doesn't raise an eyebrow when a county employee pays off a $7,000 strip club debt with cash that he happens to have laying around the house.

The county sheriff gets busted for hunting without a license and pleads "ignorance of the law" - the locals buy it and he gets reelected.

While the town is awash in truly crooked fly-by-night contractors exploiting hurricane victims, the local construction cops set up a "sting" operation to entrap honest local handymen who happen to advertise in the Thrifty Nickel.

The entire county commission is indicted but one. Apparently, he is too dumb to steal.

Mark O'Brien is the local ombudsman and gad fly.

"I forgot" is a credible defense to tax evasion.

"God told me not to pay" is the alternate defense.

Gary E. Smith is a Pensacola Beach author who frequently writes under the nom de plume Jericho Ring.