Your Ocean Shores survival guide to busybodies

Published 1:30 am Tuesday, August 26, 2025

Ocean Shores is not merely a coastal town — it’s a Petri dish of human behavior, a place where personalities collide like waves against the jetty.

Some people move here for peace and quiet, others for affirmation, and a few because even their hometown Dollar Tree wouldn’t take them back. If you’ve lived here long enough, you’ll recognize the archetypes. If you haven’t, consider this your survival guide.

The Twilight Porch Sitters

This is the most enviable group: retirees who legitimately just want to be left alone. They bought their homes with the singular dream of sipping boxed Merlot on a back deck while staring into the Pacific like it’s the world’s biggest flat-screen TV. They are not on committees, they don’t care who’s arguing in the Facebook group, and they’re blissfully immune to the drama. Frankly, they’re the smartest people in town.

The Clingers and Social Media Snipers

Then we have the addicts. They’ll latch onto anyone generous enough to give them a roof or a ride, only to repay the kindness by penning nasty manifestos on Facebook about the very people who fed them. They survive not by contribution but by manipulation, like remoras on a shark — except less useful, and somehow louder online.

The Late-Life ‘Achievers’

This category is full of people who didn’t do much in the first half of their lives, but now that they’ve hit Act II, they’re suddenly desperate for applause. Chairing a meeting becomes a world-altering sacrifice. Picking up trash is treated like storming the beaches of Normandy. In truth, most of their “hard work” could be done by a monkey with a clipboard. The difference? The monkey wouldn’t insist on having its picture in the paper.

The Power Barnacles

A special breed of opportunist, these folks attach themselves to anyone with a shred of influence, hoping for scraps — an invitation, a favor, or at least a Facebook tag. They orbit the local power structure with all the grace of moths around a streetlight, hoping the glow rubs off. It never does.

The Genuine Public Servants

This is the rare, almost mythical type: people who already had careers, accolades, and respect before they ever moved here. They volunteer not for praise but because they actually care about the community. They’ve already had their recognition; they don’t need yours. These are the people who keep the gears turning quietly while the barnacles fight over who gets credit.

The Committee Pokémon

This group can’t say no to anything. They join every board, commission, and club as if the goal is to collect them all. For a while, they look important — always at the table, always raising their hand. But sooner or later, the façade cracks. Because being on a committee is not the same as actually doing something. And when the curtain falls, their grand resume of “attendance” looks about as impressive as a participation trophy.

The Workplace Saboteurs

These are the true bottom-feeders — the people who take it upon themselves to march into someone’s place of employment to spread gossip cooked up from third-hand rumors. They imagine themselves as crusaders for justice, but in reality they’re the town jesters, laughed at behind closed doors while lawyers draft defamation suit templates. It’s equal parts petty and pathetic.

The Sweet Old Wolves in Cardigans

Finally, beware of the “innocent” old-timers. To your face, they’re sweet as pie, but behind the curtain they’re orchestrating petty feuds and power plays like Cold War operatives. They hide behind age as though it’s a shield. But here’s the truth: the law is blind. It doesn’t care if you’re 25 or 85. If you slander someone or overstep, even grandma’s porcelain figurines can end up as collateral in a civil claim. Age does not grant immunity — it just grants a cane to wave around while doing the damage.

Conclusion: A Town Built on Contradictions

Ocean Shores is a study in contrasts. For every quiet soul content with sunsets, there’s a busybody desperate for validation. For every genuine servant, there’s a barnacle clinging to power. And for every sweet old smile, there’s often a sharp set of teeth hiding underneath.

The ocean, however, remains indifferent. The waves roll in, the waves roll out. And no matter how many committees you sit on, how many Facebook posts you write, or how many workplaces you storm, the tide will eventually wash away the footprints — and the egos — that tried so hard to leave a mark.

CJ Ripley is a citizen living in Ocean Shores.