Family vacations are always fun. You've got screaming kids, naughty teenagers, and stressed-out parents. I'm presently staying at the Westin Hotel on the beautiful island of Maui with my little brother and father. We're having a great time. I'm the only surfer staying at the hotel, and I finally figured out why. It's because we surfers are a smart bunch (except for me, obviously). Those of you reading this in line at a supermarket in Toledo can halt your snickering right now. Yeah, there are folks walking around with “Surf Naked” and “Honolua Surf Co.” T-shirts on, but I'd bet that these sunburned, Teva-wearing knuckleheads have no clue whether Honolua is a right, left, beachbreak, or reef, much less what island it's on. But they're having a good time, so we can forgive their shortcomings.
Back to why we as surfers are smart. The mini-bar in each room is stocked with items that are vital in a warm climate–and they come at a high price. $5.95 for a one-liter bottle of water. That's like a dollar per sip (I tried the tap water, and it's spiked with chlorine to prevent cheapskates like me from getting over on them). Beers are reasonably priced at three dollars per can. But what are they trying to do? Let me connect the dots for you–drink the beer, get dehydrated, drink the water, and pay up.
And those naughty teenagers, what a mess they are. You've got fourteen-year-old princesses who have never lifted a finger in their life, lookin' to hook up with some other acne-ridden, lazy-ass spoiled brat, decked out in the new volcom gear his mom bought for him at the Phoenix mall. Collectively, they want to sneak a couple drinks in, make out on the beach, and charge as much as they can to their parents' room.
Along with the tourists come the entrepreneurs. Last night some kid, probably fifteen years old, tried to sell me and a friend some weed as we kicked back on the beach. The rat was trying to pass off a measly little bag of some premature (most likely stolen), scraggly buds to us for a hundred bucks. We told him to split and go hit up somebody who didn't know any better (I had no money, either).
But guess what? I've found ways to beat the system. First off, I've begun fishing off of my sixth-floor balcony. There are koi fish in the pond below as big as your arm. The carp down there are in the 50-pound range, so I've got to get some stronger line before I go for one of those bad boys. I cook them right in the middle of the room and throw the bones and guts right out the door. I also have started charging drinks and meals to that fat lady who cut me off in the water-slide line. She shouldn't have had her name and room number written on her one-piece so big. Here's to smart surfers! (Can you charge that to room 217?)–J.C.