Todd’s Surf Journal: Hammerland

Hodads and hodettes, I have some of the most wonderful news to share: the state of California has decriminalized jaywalking!

You’re probably saying to yourself “oh, come on, Todd, it’s not like you pay your fines anyways” but it’s not about that, brochacho.  You know how I’m always saying that I can’t cross the street around here without getting hassled by the man? Well it’s finally time to put that shit to bed.  For good.  Never again will I be crossing the PCH after checking in with Fullerton Mike to find myself getting patted down by some CHiPs porker.  It’s not like they ever find anything anyways; like I’m gonna wait until I get to the beach to bump up.

Anyhow, it’s something worth celebrating, so I made the most of it and hit up Hammerland.  Waves were shoulder height at best so the place was completely abandoned – nobody wants to tramp across the rocks for that.  The left wasn’t breaking (as expected) so I paddled around the point and stayed south of the rocks and tooled around on the inside.  The water is still warm so I tried out that new armless suit I salvaged from that old fullsuit that Mar Vista Mike was about to throw away just cause it was fifteen years old and had a huge rip in the neoprene underneath the left armpit.  I kinda like it!  It’s really easy to paddle with and it keeps your nuts nice and toasty.  I probably wouldn’t wear it when anyone else is around though, it kinda looks like that dress that Sharon Stone wears in Basic Instinct.  The last thing I need is for people to start calling me Ice Pick Todd.

I didn’t finish the day as well as I’d have liked to (missed two A-trains that could have taken me all the way to the beach) but it was still a very good day – I’m giving the session an A-.  And I can’t even tell you how nice it was to stroll across PCH and make eye contact with one of Redondo Beach’s finest and know that the days of getting shit from pigs (for jaywalking, at least) is over.  But you know that saying that every silver lining has a touch of grey?  Well this time it’s TWO touches of grey.

First, for those of you who haven’t spent that much time amongst the waves, if you take one or two on the head, the pressure can drive water up into your sinuses.  For someone like me, whose sinuses have seen a little bit more, ahem, mileage than the average beachgoer, that can mean a lot of water ends up inside your head by the end of a session.  And it likes to take its sweet time coming back out.  In fact, it almost has a sixth sense about coming out at the worst possible time.  In my case that happened to be three hours later, during my shift at The Habit.  There I am, calling “order number thirty-one” and sliding a tray with a Teriyaki Charburger to some Karen (and not a metaphorical Karen, a literal one, it said so right on the receipt) from Playa Del Rey, and BAM my sinuses open up and dump half a pint of nice body-temperature-warm Pacific seawater right onto her french fries.  Of course she freaks the fuck out and if Hawaiian Mike had been the shift manager he probably could have smoothed it over (he used to bodyboard so he knows what’s up) but no, it’s just my luck that Stick-Up-Her-Ass-hley was in charge and absolutely LOST HER SHIT when I tried to tell her that this wasn’t a big deal, it happens all the time, it’s just that this was a little more than usual and was the first time that a customer happened to witness it.

“Fuck you, Todd, you’re fucking fired,” she says, and such is the end of my career at that particular establishment.  It’s not the end of the world, though.  El Cerrito Mike said that one of his coworkers over at Sizzler just got picked up for an outstanding warrant, so it’s possible I’ll have something new lined up over there in fairly short order.

And now for the second gray lining – which is not nearly as big of deal but still irritating.  I needed to trim my hair so I handed Ryan the clippers and told him “cut it down to one inch.” “ONE,” I said.  So what does the stupid fuckup do?  He grabs the #1 guard and goes to town.  So it looks like yours truly is a skinhead for the time being.  Maybe I’ll keep it this way until the Dropkick Murphy’s show at the Orpheum next month and see if I can convince the venue staff that I’m in one of the opening acts and get in for free.

Oh!  Last thing.  New Delhi Mike was working the register at Lucky Spot so I wasn’t able to collect on my five-finger discount.  Fucker watches me like a hawk.  So today’s post-session antiseptic was some of the house blend that Ryan hides behind the circuit breaker panel and thinks I don’t know about.  Figure he owes me for fucking up my haircut.  Marinovich out.