Rory Parker reports from the set of Who is JOB at Pipe!

Day two of the Pipe waiting period broke to another stretch of overcast skies and light drizzle. The steady but barely noticeable rain backed off around mid-day. Not necessarily a good thing. General moistness, lacking wind, is a recipe for muggy sweaty days. You can take a dip to cool off, but nothing really dries. Damp towels, wet boardshorts. It’s not very comfortable.

But the surf was fun! Not competition worthy, but nearly there. Holding off was a very good call. Great job Mr Perrow! Yes, the guys out at Pipe(ish) were killing it. Blasting fins, burying rails, putting on a killer show. But it wasn’t barrelling, and that’s what we want to see.

Not that it’d really make a difference if the Pipe Invitational were run in small surf. Nothing on the heat sheet barrel slayers. Maybe might hand ’em an advantage. Put through the better contest surfers. Set us up for some spoiler heats. Everyone loves those.

But that’s just conjecture.

I started my day with a great little session at another tucked away piece of reef. So many semi-secret spots on the North Shore. Yeah, the Haleiwa to V-land stretch is all the rage, but if you know what you’re doing you can find solitude. Shallow solitude, but you’ve gotta pay to play and it’s worth donating a piece of yourself to the reef if it means you don’t need to paddle battle with the mix of Town clowns and tourists that poke their heads out whenever it’s less than intimidating.

People watching at Ehukai is always a grand time. Monkeys at the zoo. I don’t know what goes on in other peoples’ heads. I can barely understand what goes on in mine. Older gent doing his crossword puzzle was not enjoying my cigarette. Complaining within ear shot, careful not to make eye contact. “Cough cough cough.” It’s the end of the world!

A grown man fighting with his mother. “Mom! No one else wants to leave! If you want to make a scene we’ll make a fucking scene!”

Middle aged fellow with a brand new Arakawa gun, double leash plugs and all, extreme stretching on the water’s edge before splay leg paddling into chest high peaks.

And the women! Oh, the women! Tan and supple and gorgeous. Pretending to take a dip, squatting in waist-deep water for a minute. Getting back out with hair still dry.

We all know you’re peeing, honey. And while I’m not really into that, for you I’d give it a shot.

At around 2:30 I got a message from Derek. He’d lined up JOB for an interview at 4:30. Meet him at Pipe. Can do!

Too bad I left my recording gear back in Waialua. Jam back quick, grab my shit, battle my way east through turtle traffic. Arrived just in time, found him setting up on the berm, planning a post sunset sesh with Lume Cubes stuck to his board.

I told him he was responsible for everyone riding boogieboards again, now he’s gonna ruin night surfing too.

I like Jamie O’Brien. Truly. Tons of people like to talk shit online about the guy, but hes on a fun trip. Doing his gig, making some money. Not hurting anyone. And he’s always a good interview. Or almost always.

To be fair, it’s awkward talking about yourself when you’re surrounded by people, in the middle of doing something. It’s important to establish a rapport before an interview. Make some chit chat, make them comfortable. Nearly impossible when their attention is divided.

Also, I really wasn’t prepared. Couldn’t be, in the short time I had. Jamie wasn’t engaged. Probably my fault. Definitely my fault. When the questions are along the lines of:

If someone put a gun to your head and said they’d pull the trigger if you didn’t fuck an animal, what animal would you fuck?

…you’re gonna get a “no comment.” Unless the subject is either drunk or comfortable. Jamie was neither.

I did learn a few interesting things. He’s in the process of making the pilot for a longer form of Who is JOB. Bigger budget, trying to get on TV. I’m on board with that.

I pitched him an idea for the new season. He didn’t seem to like it.

He was once in talks with picking up a Wavestorm sponsorship. They offered him a single free board. So he ended up on Catch Surf.

He has a girlfriend of two years, which explains his reticence when it came to exploring his sex life.

He eventually foisted me off on Poopies. I have a hard time calling a grown man “Poopies.” I’m not a friend, not in on the joke. It seems disrespectful.

Guess not, though. I had a very pleasant chat with Mr Poops. He’s much more intelligent then you’d expect. Kind of a weirdo, in a pleasant makes-the-world-better-by-existing way. Seemed pretty stoked on life, bouncing back and forth between San Diego and Oahu. Earning enough to enjoy life outside the struggle.

Poopies was far more receptive to my questions. He’d fuck a cat, maybe a fish. He also seemed interested in my pitch. The general idea is hidden camera hitchhiker pickup. He’s a semi-famous guy, enough to get recognized by traveling teens he’d pick up.

Get them in, lock the doors. Start getting weird.

“What’s up guys? You wanna get sucked or fucked?”

Poopies spent some time as an amateur gigolo during his early days on the North Shore. Banging a lady they called Auntie Gnar Gnar in exchange for access to her car. I’ve always been surprised that doesn’t happen more often. The area gets flooded with attractive, and broke, young men every year. A sufficiently predatory lady would have no problem keeping herself packed to the gills with trim young pecker.

He should build a stable, I told him. Find the transplant kids whose North Shore dream has turned into a tropical nightmare. Turn them out, earn a buck.

We talked about his involvement, or lack thereof, in the planning of Who is JOB. He just does what he’s told. Isn’t able to put himself in harm’s way willingly. Needs the push, the peer pressure.

Surprisingly, his worst experience filming was riding a waterwheel at Pipe.

“Ask him about his Tinder chick,” Jamie told me. “She was hefty.”

“She was not,” Poopies protested. He made her a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, then fucked her in the backseat of her rental car in the parking lot of the Waimea heiau.

I promised I’d mention the t-shirts he’s selling. Poopies for President! You can buy ’em at the Surfride store.

As a whole it worked well. Jamie’s reticence followed by Poopies’s openness. Would have made an excellent podcast. Only problem, it turns out recording beachfront at Pipe is a terrible idea. My brand new, kind of expensive, directional mic picked up almost nothing but the roar of the surf. Garbled words, totally unintelligible.

But it’d be a few hours before I’d learn how badly I fucked up. I left the beach in a great mood, headed to Haleiwa for some sun down drinks at Breakers.

Wasn’t aware it was the night of the Haleiwa Christmas parade. God damn, how I hate that thing. Fucked with my scene every year I live in Haleiwa. Never learned to anticipate it. Ended up trapped on the Town side of Haleiwa, headed up Kam toward the Dole Plantation. Long way out of my way before I could cut over to Wilikina and make my way back to where I’m staying.

So I said ‘fuck it’ drove to Walmart, and bought a burner flip phone. Make my life a little easier for the next two weeks. Gonna toss the thing in the garbage the moment I’m back on Kauai.