RESIDUE, SAT 22AUG2015

Loc: Manhattan Beach

Time: 0730-0815

Crew: Bri, Klaude

Conditions: 1-3 FT, consistent, crowded

Board: Motorboat Too

     Dude . . . this whole past week I’ve set my alarm for 0530 at the latest, and every morning I’ve snoozed until my alarm stopped buzzing. Bri and I have been off, going to bed too late and needing that extra hour to sleep in. No legit dawn patrols. Saturday morning was no different.

#

     We’re late. I have a family obligation to tend to at 0900, so we only have less than an hour to surf, a fucking tease.

     I even park in the upper lot, which is unheard of because I’m a cheap ass. I feed a few coins into the meter.

     Klaude pulls up behind us. I have so much residue from last night that I can’t acknowledge how he’s sticking out his tongue from his driver’s-side window.

     Time is everything. There is no time. I wax my board, throw my shit on, and then I’m waiting for Bri.

     Orlando and Jose are making their way out to the water the same time we are. “Remember, party at my house tonight!” says Orlando. “You coming?”

     I tell him yeah, that Bri gets off at 1700, and then he says that the band won’t be there until 1600, so our timing will be perfect.

     The lineup’s packed. Even though the surf is a little smaller than the last time I surfed here, the conditions are at least clean, much cleaner than yesterday.

     I watch Klaude milk a long left on his DK Puddle Jumper, a wave that looks like it shouldn’t even be giving that much. Bri does much better than I do, even burning a noob on a right. Klaude looks at me when we see what she does. He sticks his tongue out. I guess she’s a local now.

     Later, I overhear Klaude tell her how she has the same paddling mannerisms that I do. This is good. It means she paddles ugly and really, really wants the wave.

     I go home without a decent wave under my belt. My shampoo hunt turns nil. My claim-to-fame waves are nothing but closeout pinches.

     After the sesh, I pick up my seventeen year old cousin from his school in Hollywood to take him grocery shopping. The kid fills up the shopping cart until it’s overflowing, nothing but Spam and a bunch of other instant shit, true college grub. We bond, and it’s nice. I can’t be selfish all the time. Gotta have some family time.

     When Bri gets off work, we head straight to Orlando’s and catch the party in full swing. He has a band playing, there’s plenty of food and beer, and about ten surfers from our local break are here. It’s cool seeing everyone out of the water, faces and names officially being matched together for the first time.

     Bri and I are the last ones to leave. On the way home, Bri and I talk about how grateful we are for our friends, our social life here, and how moving away from the South Bay would be hard. Things like these are easy to take for granted.