Every boy needs his sugar mama…
Not long ago, I won the lottery. Well not
really, I’m still broke as shit, but as far as surf trips go I was
able to cash-in the winning ticket.
It was Saint Patrick’s Day and I was eager to get out of work to
celebrate my heritage of being predisposed to alcoholism. I left
work and met up with friends to do what I figured was going to be a
night of booze and poor decisions, but it wasn’t quite
that.
I find my friends sitting at the little back bar of the
restaurant casually drinking beer and watching the Rangers hockey
game. I grab a beer and try to find out what the big plan for the
night was and they reply with, “You’re looking at it.”
And though I was mildly disappointed that it wasn’t going to be
a typical Saint Patrick’s Day of getting blacked out drunk, I
shifted gears in my head and prepared to have a mellow one. We
watched the end of the game, which went to overtime, and the
Rangers lost and we promptly left after that.
On the way back we stop at the gas station to get some alcohol
for a nightcap at the house. We drink a few drinks and watch
some TV on the couch, nothing exciting. While sitting there that
little part of my brain, and by little part I mean basically 96.72
percent part of my brain, starts going “Hey, I’m horny and it’s not
too late to find some one to have sexy time with.”
Seeing as I’m part of a generation that relies on a little
rectangle to solve all life problems, I send out texts to my
typical booty calls. No luck. Then I start swiping right to
every girl hoping for a match to help me in my situation.
I swipe through my allotted amount of swipes on Tinder, thanks
assholes for taking away unlimited swipes, with no luck. I then
move on to Bumble They give you as many swipes as you want and
swipe right on every girl that comes across my screen. I never
swipe left. Always swipe right, you don’t always get the prettiest
girls that way but unless you look like my friend Zander chances
are you won’t get those girls anyways so have fun with the girls in
that three-to-seven range. It’s good karma.
I get a few matches, but the unfortunate part of Bumble is that
the women have to talk to you first. Luckily for me one of my
matches strikes up a conversation, we’ll call her Sharron, and I
don’t have the conversation anymore but it more or less goes that
she was recently divorced and very horny and that I was very wine
drunk and very horny so we decide to meet up. She sends me her
address, I request an Uber, I’m on my way. I arrive to her house
and we do what horny people do. It was good fun.
The next morning we talk for a little bit and I find out a
little about her and her life. She’s in her early forties, she is
freshly divorced, has a new pair of boobs, has a small litter of
children and is trying to figure out the whole internet dating
thing. She seems like a nice lady overall and she gives me a ride
back to my car in the morning. I figure that would be the end of my
interactions with her because that’s typically how the whole dating
app scene works.
I was wrong.
The next weekend rolls around and it’s my good buddy RJ’s 30th
birthday. It was a fantastic weekend filled with a Bruce
Springsteen concert, dancing, stick-horse racing, friends, alcohol,
and much more. The end of the night comes around and I receive a
text from Sharron asking me what I was doing.
I ask RJ if he would be bummed if I left his party to go over
there and he said he was going to bed soon and didn’t give a shit,
so I did. The next morning I felt like pure hell. While laying in
her bed thinking about how my head feels like it was just kicked
for a 69-yard field goal I start up a conversation with Sharron
complaining about my hangover.
Me: “Ugh, I feel awful. I have zero interest in going
to work today.”
Sharron: “Aw, I’m sorry. It sounds like you need a
vacation.”
Me: “Yeah, but who doesn’t?”
Sharron: “I need a vacation too. Want to go on vacation
with me?”
Me: “Sure, where do you want to go?”
Now I expected her to say go to Malibu or Mexico or somewhere
within driving distance. But she says, “I love Tavarua. Want to go
there?”
Me: “I would love to go there, but have no where near
the money for that shit I’m broke.”
Sharron: “No, like, I’ll take you there”
I tell her, of course I would like to go there, but figured she
was bluffing and wrote it off in my brain that anyone would want to
take me to the place that I’ve dreamed about going to more than any
other place in the world.
Two weeks later I got a call from her asking for my info so she
could send it to the travel agent. Suddenly I’m like D Ray from the
decline, “Fiji on zero dollars a day. That’s where you have to find
yourself the rich girlfriend kids.”
I’ll fast-forward two months through all the trivial shit. I’m
packed, the swell is going to be firing eight-to-twelve
feet with bigger sets, and I have the excitement level of a
kid waking up to Christmas and sees that they have a monster truck
in the front yard. (By the way, that would still be the greatest
gift ever Santa.)
We arrive to Tavarua at 11:30 am Fijian time. I am still
filled with excitement and disbelief as I step off the boat and my
feet sink into the warm white sand surrounded by clear blue water.
Videos, pictures, words and stories don’t do the place justice.
It’s, literally, the best place in the world.
Alongside me and my lady friend getting off the boat is Balaram
Stack, Reef McIntosh, Ryan Burch and Lucas Drikse. Bal and I talk
about his recent West Oz trip and he tells me how good were going
to score, which makes me think that I should tell Sharron the
program I’m going to be on.
I tell her that I really like surfing, like surf-ten-hours-a-day
like surfing, and that the first two days she’s not going to see me
much. She tells me that she comes from a surf family and she gets
it, so I should just have fun.
I’m not going to go through and tell you about the waves we
scored. You’ve seen videos of Cloudbreak, it’s fucking perfect, and
some idiot who barely got a 400 on his SAT writing is not going to
do you any favors. I’m just going to tell you of the stuff that’s
fun to hear about.
It was the second or third night there, we had just got done
with another all day surf mission. I have a shit-eating smile on my
face that you could not remove even if you wanted to. I walk up to
Sharron who is sitting at the bar with a few other guests who are
talking and drinking. She appears to be a little tipsy. I think
good for her she’s having fun and is cool about me surfing all day.
This is epic.
I try to strike up a conversation. She shoots it down quickly. I
shrug it offand say that I’m getting food and ask if she would like
any. She declines so I go get my food and eat to replenish my body.
I go back over again and she appears not happy at all, so I try to
keep the conversation light and happy to make her smile. She’s
pissed.
I ask what she is mad about and she starts going on a
tirade. Yelling at me and telling me how I suck, which I probably
deserve. I try to ask what I can do to make it up to her and she
just dismisses me as a piece of shit. I know there is no
rationalizing with an angry drunk woman so I decide to go back to
the bure to avoid a scene. The next morning, I decide to sleep in
and miss the six am boat so I can talk to her and try to make
amends. I wake up and find her on the beach collecting shells. I
approach her and sit in the sand.
Me: “So last night you kind of snapped on me, and I
would like to know what the problem is so we can fix it and have a
fun time.”
Sharron: “This is just not how I thought this was going to
go, whatever, it’s my own fault.”
Me: “How did you think it was going to go?”
Sharron: “I don’t know but this was not how I thought and
it just seems like you’re unappreciative.”
Me: “I’m super appreciative so thank you, but just coming
from my point of view, I’m at the best wave in the world and it’s
pumping. I don’t know if you wanted me to stay on the beach all day
and collect shells, but that’s not how I work. I love surfing more
than anything.”
Sharron: “No it’s fine. Just use this opportunity and have
fun.”
So that is exactly what I did. I went and traded off on
head-high lefts with Balaram at restaurants for the rest of the
morning. The rest of the trip we were like roommates. We’d see each
other and exchange pleasantries but that was the extent of it.
It’s the last day of the trip. I get packed up and say goodbye
to all the awesome staff and new friends I made while on my week in
paradise and vow to them I’ll be back. That crazy swell was on the
way (the one Aaron Gold almost drowned and Damo and Dane G. got the
sickest lefts ever on) so the island was buzzing to get ready.
They sent us to another resort on the mainland to chill by the
pool for the day and buy ten-dollar beers. I took that time to nap,
use the free WiFi to cure my social media withdrawals and text
my friends back at home. Sharron got up and went to get a wine.
This made me nervous because she’s not a fun drunk and gets angry.
Seeing as we had an eleven-hour flight coming up I just do whatever
I can to make her happy.
We leave the resort and she is still in high spirits. I think
that this is going to be fine. We’ll get on the plane and she’ll
pass out and I can alternate sleeping with the Fiji Airways movie
selection. Our bags are checked. One of her new friends tells her
that she is going to give her an Ambein and I’m smiling because in
my mind I’ve crossed the finish line.
Then we get to security. They want her to throw away her special
sunscreen, which she is not getting rid of. It turns into a
screaming match between her and the airport security. I start
stepping away from the situation, no cavity search for me. She
tells me to go ahead, so I did and I go to waiting area. She
eventually makes it through and goes straight to the bar. She is
sitting with her island drinking partner and they start going to
town on some white wine.
I see my situation deteriorate before my eyes and use the excuse
that I want to walk around before sitting for eleven hours on
the flight and leave the scene. I run into my friend
Justin who was also in Fiji but stayed on the mainland. We start
trading stories of our sessions and funny parts of our trips. They
start boarding the flight so I grab Sharron to go wait in line. She
looks a tipsy and decides to start up a fun conversation about one
of the cute blonde girls on the island that was hanging out with
our crew.
Sharron: “You like Becca more than me don’t you?”
Me: “What are you talking about? She was just hanging out
with our crew.”
Sharron: “You just like young stupid, naïve girls. You
wouldn’t know a good woman if you saw one.”
Me: “Can we please not do this?”
Sharron: “We can do whatever I want because I paid for all
of this”
Me: “Ok, well I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m
sorry.”
Sharron: “You don’t have to say you’re sorry, just know
that this is the problem with your generation. You guys don’t
appreciate things and don’t know when to fight for a good thing
when you see it. Go fuck yourself.”
Thirty minutes later, I get on the plane and sit next to
her.
Sharron: “Why did you walk away from me?”
Me: “I’m not going to stand in public and get berated. I
figured walking away was the best thing to do.”
Sharron: “Well, listen, you need to know that you need to
grow the fuck up and learn that you can’t just be easygoing and
carefree through your life like you are now”
Me: “Ok, thanks for the life tip”
Sharron: ”You know what, FUCK YOU! Just go fuck
yourself!”
Me: “Chill out there’s kids on the plane, you need to
relax.”
Sharron: “Don’t tell me what to do, FUCK YOU!”
Me: “Hey shut up, this is not the place to do this.”
Sharron: “FUCK YOU don’t tell me to shut up.”
At that point I plugged my headphones in and picked a movie and
stared straight ahead as she continued to scream obscenities in my
ear for another couple of minutes. I told myself to stare
straight ahead and hope for her to hit me so I could be relocated
or get her kicked off the flight, which was the path we were on
until one of the fathers who was also on the island yelled across
the plane for her to chill out. She eventually simmered down into a
sleep. I went to ask my buddy Justin if he could give me a ride
back to my house and he said he would do whatever he could do to
help me get out of that situation.
The flight lands and I’m still not looking in her direction or
acknowledging her sitting next to me. I turn my phone back on, saw
that I had wireless data again, plugged in my head phones, open
Spotify, and turn up my favorite Mastodon album as loud as it can
go.
I wait for my boardbag and brace for a final interaction with
her, seeing as she put a small bag in there. While waiting I am
congratulated by random passengers for my maturity in the situation
and it makes me want to thank every crazy girl I’ve ever dealt with
for preparing me for that encounter. My bag arrives. I pull
her bag out and give it to her. That is the end of our
interactions.
And that is how I scored a trip to the best place in the world.
And if I could do it again I would. I would do the same trip with
an even crazier broad if it came up again. I wish I could’ve made
it so she had more fun, but I’m 25 and never have had a real
girlfriend so I’m kind of a rookie when it comes to this kind of
stuff.
Hopefully she has more fun with the next guy she told me she was
bringing.
(Editor’s note: This story first appeared in the print
edition of a once-popular-ish magazine called Surfing
that operated between, 1964 and 2017.)
