They must teach this at lifeguard school, how to keep your thumb off the loudspeaker mic despite parents waist-deep in ocean wash, introducing the six-month-old in their arms to gentle waves which just 20 minutes ago snapped with a bang right where they stand. Look, not even flotation blowups on the kid’s arms! I tsk-tsk those grownups in my head, imagining their babe ripped to the sand floor when the next powerful set crashes in.
Hawaii lifeguards don’t warn against everyday foolishness. They do broadcast to the beach when waves smash hard enough that someone with their back to the ocean might get knocked down, battered to paralysis. “Today’s ocean conditions can lead to serious, life-changing spinal injuries,” they announce. “Know your limits.” But intermittent shorebreak dangers? No. And when someone drifts far from shore on a bright yellow or orange float—a shark attractor for sure? The lifeguard tower remains mum. I hold my tongue, too. Not my business.
On my morning run, I see people walking and even running, fixated on their cellphone, heedless of what’s ahead. Don’t they see the pavement is bumpy from tree roots pushing from below? This route is trippy if you don’t look, I want to alert them. Not to mention the idiocy of paying for a vacation and then not soaking in the atmosphere, not basking in the scent of hibiscus and plumeria flowers.
In Sitka, Alaska, my husband landed in the island’s emergency room after for a moment he looked at me instead of the pavement where he was running. He still has scars on his forehead from that distraction. But would the lifeguards say something about cellphone morons? No. So, not my business.
When our beach’s waves get high, I see dudes, plummy and jubilant, jumping them wearing sunglasses until a big one crests over them and slides the glasses into the water. Obscured by sandy wave-wash, the glasses drift along the ocean bottom until on a calmer day, someone like my husband dives down and, finders keepers, becomes their new owner.
My husband loves the Oakleys and RayBans he’s discovered, diving, days after those cocky bros went home. One year I made $900 reselling on eBay unscratched Gucci, Prada and Stella McCartney glasses recovered that way. Applying the lifeguard tower test again, would they warn the sunglass wearers? Never. Again, not my business–or maybe it is. Hah.
