I’m no artist. But I decided to take 20 minutes out of my workday to draw this landscape of the lineup of which I speak.
I’m late. I knew when I pushed snooze it’d set me back a half hour and traffic would just compound. But it’s hard to escape my pillow and the warmth of my bed before the sun comes up.
Now I’m here slurping my coffee and watching the waves. It’s a get in get out kind of day. A business surf if you will. No time for friendly chit chat. I need my waves so I can get on with my day. Otherwise, I know I’ll be checking the cams all day and that’s not good for workplace productivity.
Shit, it’s crowded. Five, fifteen, thirty heads bobbing at the top of the point. I accidentally take too big of a gulp of coffee and singe my tongue. Argh!
Here comes a set. A guy on a foam board is having trouble paddling out of this bald guy’s way as he’s screaming down the line. And by screaming, I mean shouting – I can hear him from here, “Hey! Hey! Mine! Beat it!”
Oh man! Near collision! Bald aggro guy falls. He comes up and starts splashing water in a foam boarder’s face. He’s pointing to shore. “Go home, kook!” I see his mouth saying. Note to self. Stay out of bald aggro guy’s way.
I scuttle back to my car. Pull out my suit. Thing’s still wet. *sniff* Yup, probably should’ve hung it up instead of leaving it balled up on the floor of the garage. I suit up quickly, put on a fresh coat of wax and hurry down to the shoreline.
Here comes another set. A guy on a purple retro fish is highlining this one – super styley. I hope I can get one like that.
I paddle out to the lineup and take a look around. Alright, bearded longboarder to my left. Is he wearing a leash? Nope, no leash. But can he noseride? He turns for a small one. Shit, he can noseride. Man, he’s still going. I think to myself that’s an amazing wave, but I also despise longboarder guy now. Probably because he’s better than me and I’m jealous.
I sit up on my board now. I’m strategically between two large groups so I can pick off some wide swinging ones. A guy in a red sleeve wetsuit paddles behind me and sits right next to me putting me second in line. We lock eyes. Red Sleeves is my nemesis now. I go to paddle around him and take my position back. He starts to paddle too. Oh, this is how you wanna do it Red Sleeves? We look like synchronized paddlers now. Paddling further and further out of position. Red Sleeves stops. I keep going past him. Hah! I win!
We bob over a few small ones. A set comes. I’m too deep but I see Red Sleeves paddle so I paddle anyway. Yep, too deep. I pull back. Red Sleeves goes, looks back and smirks. Fuck you, Red Sleeves.
I look around again for a little gap in the lineup I can take advantage of to get a wave. Two crusty old guys are yucking it up about all the free time they have now they’re retired. “The wife and I just got back from a killer trip to Costa Rica,” says one. “Oh, really? Tell me more,” says the other.
Now’s my chance. Here comes a wave and they’re distracted. Purple retro fish guy is paddling over the shoulder hooting me in. I knew I liked that guy. I drop in, get some speed, dig my rail and fall. I look around and a couple guys are looking at me. I scratch my wax as if I slipped. That totally only happened through no fault of my own. See guys. I slipped. See guys!
I turn and Red Sleeves is looking at me. Fuck you, Red Sleeves. This was your fault, Red Sleeves!
I look at my watch. I need to get to work. No time to avoid the paddle of shame. You win this time Red Sleeves. I’ll be back tomorrow.
