I took this picture from the pier in Ocean Beach, California back at the end of May. I have a new camera that I’ve been playing with, and I was trying to get a decent action shot from the dozen or so guys and girls surfing there that afternoon. This guy seemed to be the only one who wasn’t super retentive when it came to picking a potential wave to ride, and the only one who seemed fairly adept at riding them when he did. I hated him instantly.
This could be me, unless you know who I am
First, I have to say that I’m pretty proud of this picture. I think it’s pretty cool, despite the fact that he’s the guy in it. For likely all of us, this is the most we’ll ever know about him: he’s athletic, has good balance, can afford wet suits and nice surfboards, and looks way cooler than he probably is. Well, I had the benefit of watching him among his peers, all of them bobbing in the surf like clumsy, tired sea lions (I had silently hoped for a better picture, one of a Great White exploding from the water with an arm or leg stuck in its teeth, like the bits of pork and beef that hang from mine as I explode from the all-u-can-eat buffet at the local Barbecue Pit), and I was able to accumulate considerable assumptive evidence that he was, frankly, a tool. I don’t like this guy and here’s why:
1). He’s a guy. Generally speaking, I don’t like any male adult until I have the opportunity to get to know him. This has worked well for me in the past, because I’ve found most men with whom I’ve had to associate were unlikable once I got to know them (there were exceptions); the preemptive dislike saves considerable time, effort and, had I applied this philosophy earlier in life, many cuts, abrasions and bruises.
2) He lives in Southern California, possibly in Ocean Beach. That is not fair. I love Ocean Beach; everyone there seems super chill and goes about their business casually and without judgement of others. I want to live in a community where you can step out on your front porch each morning in torn t-shirt and boxers and no one stares scornfully at you. (Actually, I do live in one, but that’s more a function of socio-economics). Sadly, I am too poor; a similar level of subsistence in Ocean Beach to that which I enjoy in Tucson is at present unattainable for me.
3) His name is “Trey”, “Spence”, “Cam”, or simply “Dude”. Even if he has a normal first name, like “John”, or “Jim”, his last name is “Ringo”, “Slaughter”, or “Sixkiller.” My first name is Richard, and the most common nickname associated with it is to me almost unmentionable and in all ways unacceptable. Worse still, my stepfather has the same name and by virtue of age claimed the prefix of “Big”, while I was left with “Little”. This is no way for a boy to grow up.
4) Either his watch is waterproof, or he’s an idiot. I don’t even own a watch. My wife, partner or cellphone will tell me when it’s time to go. Wearing a watch while surfing implies that he has a pressing engagement that will, at some point, necessitate his leaving the water. “Hi, Jean. I’m going surfing. Hold my calls and push the meetings to 3:30.” Please. When I’m in the water, the only urgent calls to leave are 1) onesies, and hey, it’s a big ocean, 2) twosies (it’s not that big of an ocean), or 3) it’s time to eat, and my gut tells me when that is.
5) He failed to follow surfing protocol. There seems to be a certain code to adhere to when catching a potential wave. Apparently, when you lie on your belly and start flailing your arms like a baby sea turtle trying to make it from egg to tide, the others are supposed to back off; this guy would go and basically force the others off the wave, lest they be subjected to an unscheduled prostate check with a pointed, six foot fiberglass board. Granted, most of the other surfers seemed to be pretenders, or at the very least extremely selective when it came to judging the quality of an incoming wave, but it was still clear that he held little regard for his fellow surfers.
I don’t like this guy; I don’t care if he knows it. If any of you know him, you can tell him I said so. Course, maybe I should have taken the time to get to know him…
thestrugglershandbook 
Hilarious! And gnarly picture…totally worthy.
I had a similar experience in Santa Cruz several years back. For a week I was overcome with a mixture of envy and disgust. I even signed up for surf lessons but when I went to surf shop the next morning (early) I was told the instructor and owner of the shop wouldn’t be available for the lesson because the surf that morning was just “too awesome”.
Oh, and my first name is John…slang for both a person who patronizes prostitutes AND for a toilet.
I used to have a friend named Richard whose last name was Deposit–and he did not go by Richard, I could not make that up.
Haha! You’re right – never thought about the name John that way. As for Mr. Deposit, way to embrace the nickname!
I would like to live in Ocean Beach and be super chill. Thanks Little Richard (what’s wrong with that?) for making me feel so much better that my name is Victoria. The only thing I had to worry about growing up is that people might call me “Vicky” and mistake me for a cheerleader. Glad you’re blogging again.
Tori
Yeah, Little Richard doesn’t sound so bad…Victoria is a very regal name, though so is Richard, I guess. Anyway, I’m glad to be blogging (and reading) again too!
Nice pic. Come visit. We will take you surfing…and give you a cool nick-name, like, ummm, Shark-Bait, or ….well, we can think of something once we see how you take to it -;)
I know how I would take to it; Shark-Bait is perfect.
I think he’s actually checking his watch right when you took that picture.
I think you’re right! What a tool, as MSP would say.
Another reason to scorn your foto guy: if he is really using a six foot board, he is not a real surfer. A long board, Little Richard, determines your masculinity ( so I’ve been told ).
Haha! Of course, of course…um, it’s always long boards for me.
I think his “watch” is actually a wristband that keeps his surfboard attached to his body… Just sayin’.
Hmph. Don’t think that just because you’re married now you get to correct the old man. It’s because you’re a woman that you get to correct the old man.
omg..this was funny! Loved it, Struggler. Entertaining as usual.
Yay! I’m glad you liked it, warrioress. I found out two other people I know follow your blog and love it. Small world!
Duuuuuuuuuuuuude. This was too funny. Failing surfer protocol … yeah there are definite guidelines here. I don’t live by the beach but I’m still pretty chill down in Southern Cali. Funny post. 🙂
Thanks. I envy you that you can pop down to the beach pretty quick, though. Six hours away for us…
That picture is awesome even though the guy is in it, it turned out really great. A great white chasing after him would just be icing on the cake! 😉
I have a watch and its waterproof and I do wear it in the ocean, but mainly to figure out when I should head back to the boat because I get lost swimming and end up chasing sharks and huge fish that come across my path. I have been in the middle of the ocean before, popped up for air, looked around and went, “Hmmm, damn, I’m stranded, where the hell did that boat go?!”
That would freak me out. Swimming among sharks and huge fish is bad enough; getting stranded would be more than I could take. You’re very brave; have you considered glass-bottomed boat tours?