Being a tourist used to be easy. To be one you had to have money so everyone sucked up to you. Now, everyone and his brother gets to be a tourist. No one sucks up you. Just hand over the money and don’t bother anyone.

There are rules now. Yea, rules! Like these ones in the Holy City of Charleston. Don’t bother the natives. Don’t gawk at the landmarks; don’t ask directions; don’t take pictures without permission; don’t peek into windows.

Tourists think that all old houses in downtown are tourist attractions. They peek into windows and prowl around the yards. They pick flowers and spit on your walkway. They think nothing of knocking on your door and asking if you’re open.

Don’t litter. That’s a good one. It really is. Unless you’re a horse. Follow a horsedrawn carriage and you’ll see some real litter. You will if your eyes don’t tearup from the , uh, fragrance. No, forget that. If you’re dumb enough to follow a horsedrawn carriage you should tearup.

Don’t wear a New York Yankees ballcap.

Don’t ever use the word, “Mon”.

Don’t ask a local African-American to say something in Gullah for you. It’s offensive. That’s a cultural thing. Besides, most of them don’t speak it. All Charlestonians have trouble with some English. Yea, Charlestonians is the preferred term. Chuckheads is, well, a lowlifer term.

Don’t ask for soft ice cream. That’s a sure sign that you are either a tourist or soft in the head or both. Want soft ice cream. Take the cone outside for three seconds. It’ll be so soft it drips down your hand and onto the sidewalk. Then, a cop will write you up for littering. See how it works?

Never, I mean never, ask about the Confederate flag. Just don’t.

You have to understand that in Charleston a tourist is like a cold. You’re going to catch some but hope not too many. You hope the tourist don’t stay too long and especially hope they don’t decide to move here. We would prefer you just send a check and stay home or go bother someone else.