It was another flawless Saturday afternoon, the kind where the sun was warm but not too hot, and the salty breeze from the ocean seemed to carry all the troubles away.
I set up my towel near the water, ready to enjoy a full day of doing absolutely nothing.
Around me, the beach was alive with its usual rhythm—surfers catching waves, families building sandcastles, and regulars soaking up the sunshine.
And then, there was ‘that guy.’
You know the type.
The one who treats the beach like his personal kingdom, oblivious to the fact that other people exist.
Every weekend, he’d haul a massive cooler onto the sand, set up camp, and dive into his feast like it was an all-you-can-eat buffet.
Soda cans, chip bags, sandwich wrappers—you name it—he’d leave it scattered around his towel like breadcrumbs for someone else to deal with.
Of course, it wasn’t just an eyesore. The leftovers attracted an army of seagulls.
And those birds weren’t just annoying—they were relentless.
Once they spotted that guy’s buffet, they swooped in like vultures, squawking and flapping, turning the peaceful beach into a scene straight out of a Hitchcock movie.
Everyone around was irritated.
It was like this every week.
He never noticed.
He’d just go to sleep while the birds feasted hovered nearby, getting bolder.
There was one person, though, who seemed particularly bothered by the trashy guy, a woman who was also a regular on the beach each weekend.
Week after week, I could see her irritation grow every time the guy turned the beach into a seagull frenzy.
And today, it seemed like she’d had enough.
Feeding the Fire
It all started like clockwork.
Like always, the guy came, ate massive amounts of food and then promptly fell asleep.
His garbage lay strewn around him, an open invitation for trouble.
It didn’t take long for the seagulls to notice. They began circling, their shrill cries echoing across the beach.
A few of us sighed, bracing ourselves for the inevitable chaos.
I glanced over and saw the lady stand up casually, and wander over near the sleeping guy.
She bent down as if adjusting her sandals, and with a flick of her hand, she nudged a few of the bags nearby, spilling chips out closer to his towel.
I couldn’t help but smirk, knowing exactly what was coming next.
The woman walked calmly away even as the birds were getting closer.
Birds to the Rescue
It didn’t take long.
Within minutes, the seagulls descended, more aggressive than usual, squawking and flapping their wings as they swooped down on the chips and started closing in closer.
The guy was still sleeping.
But, the seagulls were relentless, pecking and fighting over every last scrap of food, hopping and flapping all over the guy’s stuff.
It wasn’t just us regulars who were watching now.
A few other beachgoers had noticed, some laughing quietly, others pulling out their cameras to film the chaos as the seagulls practically swarmed the guy’s towel.
The noise was getting louder, the birds bolder with each passing minute.
And then, the beach patrol noticed too.
Wings of Whirling Chaos
Finally, the guy drowsily woke up.
When he noticed the swarm, he shot up, flailing his arms wildly, trying to shoo the birds away, but it was too late.
His towel was a battlefield, with seagulls hopping all over it, grabbing whatever food they could find.
In the confusion, he knocked over his cooler, spilling even more food onto the sand, making the situation worse.
The birds swooped in, screeching and flapping their wings.
And then, two beach patrol officers arrived, drawn by the commotion.
“Sir,” one of the officers said, his voice stern, “you’re aware that leaving food out like this attracts seagulls, right?”
The guy, still swatting at the birds, sputtered, “I didn’t leave the food! They just—uh—came out of nowhere!”
The officer wasn’t having it. “You’re disturbing the peace and violating the beach’s cleanliness rules. This is your final warning. If you leave your area like this again, you’ll be fined.”
The guy’s face turned a deep shade of red, a mix of embarrassment and frustration as he noticed everyone filming and laughing.
He muttered something under his breath as the officer handed him a trash bag and ordered him to clean up the mess.
Begrudgingly, he began stuffing the trash into the bag, still swatting at the few remaining seagulls that hadn’t yet given up on their feast.
I looked over at the lady.
She’d finally put her book down, watching the scene with a small, satisfied grin. She wasn’t gloating, just quietly enjoying the justice she’d set in motion.
Peace Restored
After the beach patrol left, and the seagulls scattered, the guy packed up his things, avoiding eye contact with anyone.
There was no lounging today, no carefree napping—just a quick, embarrassed exit.
He hurried off the beach, carrying his now-empty cooler with him.
The seagulls had moved on, and the rest of us could finally relax without the constant screeching and mess.
The air seemed quieter, cleaner, as if the beach itself had breathed a sigh of relief.
Sometimes, the best kind of justice isn’t loud or vengeful.
It’s just a little nudge—a few crumbs in the right place—and nature does the rest.