Kooky is as Kooky Does (or How Not to Make an Entrance)

It was a sight to behold. It took two cars to get them all there.

The first thing they did wrong was bookend one surfer's car. Their first car was parked right on that surfer's front bumper. The second was just a few feet away from the back bumper. (With little swell in the water and ample parking, there was no need for this unspoken breach in etiquette.)

The boards were strapped to the top of the second car—four of them piled high on the bare roof rack. No board bags. No towels. And when the boards were taken down, the sound of each surfboard being dropped on the ground was easy to discern.

Then they suited up.

It was the guy with the sleeveless wetsuit, one I'm certain was a 2 mil, who caught our attention. He was very proud of having emerged with a swagger from his black Mercedes like some kind of ersatz Mafioso. Again, sleeveless. I was polite enough to tell him the water was seriously cold. No matter. He put on his gloves, got his crew together and headed for the shore.

As we watched them head toward the water, someone pointed out to me that one of the boards only had two fins. Being the benefit-of-the-doubt-giving person that I am, I assured myself that the board in question was a twin fin or twin keel. But in my heart of hearts, I knew. So when the board was finally in a position where I could see the bottom clearly, all I could do was shake my head. It was a tri fin. Not a 2+1, but a tri. The fins were all the same size—the two fins that were left. The center fin and the right fin. The left fin was nowhere to be found. They either didn't notice or didn't know any better. By this time, they were too far away for us to point it out and suggest that perhaps this was not the ideal situation for teaching someone—the kid with the two-finned board!!!—how to surf.

And then they made their way out into the water. On a seriously low tide. Rocks were everywhere. Big ones. Little ones. Hidden ones. Destructive ones. They barely made it past the rocks before turning around to start what we assume they thought was surfing. You can guess how this went, can't you? We watched the macho Mafioso dude paddle for a wave and run right into the other guy in the group who was paddling for a wave. A few minutes later, one of them tried to catch a wave and hit one of the big, destructive rocks. That was enough carnage for me. I didn't want to see anymore. There was no way this could end well, but it seemed to us from the get go that they were confident in their abilities, that there would be no entertaining of suggestions from surfers who are regulars.

Let this be a lesson. You know how they say "Don't be that guy"? I'll just say: Don't be that crew!