I Want My Money Back

Okay, it's figurative money. But I think I've paid my surfing dues this year. The least the waves can do is cooperate during my last week of freedom surfing (which is not to be confused with "free" surfing). I ran out of here this morning, expecting RPB to deliver bigger and better things than I saw yesterday. You know what? I didn't see anything tempting. Those were the same waves I saw yesterday, dammit!! They weren't any bigger. They didn't have more shape. They were the same. In fact, there were fewer of those waves today than there were yesterday. Yes, at times it was flat out there! And then there were more people in the water. I wasn't feelin' any of that. I went back down PCH to the home break. It was looking closed out but kind of tempting . . . until someone said that Surf Daddy John, the guy who'll paddle out the day after a week of rain, got out after one wave. Apparently, there was something (something nasty? something toxic?) on the surface of the water that smelled horrible and was easily seen. He wasn't having any of that and left. If John got out after just one wave, I can't help but think the Apocalypse is upon us and the end of the world is near. Despite my fears of immediately going straight to hell once J—you know, the WWJD dude—spotted me in a crowd, I ran my mouth with the crew for awhile. Then I came home. Perhaps I can find a little surf this weekend. If not, that's okay too. My summer was great and it was enough to keep me satisfied for the rest of the year.