And to think - I thought the only hassle was going to be the drive there and back. A guy I knew in college once said Long Beach is"just too far enough to force people to come down and visit." Well, I waited this time so that the Grand Prix was the prior weekend. As we passed the still-up stands to Ocean Blvd., I was trying to make the best of what I consider "uncomfortable relaxation."
The Dog Beach sounds like a good idea in theory: you don't have to swim or tan if you don't want to (and with all sorts of rando dogs about, you wont), your dog can lose its mind for a while, and maybe you'll get a laugh or two. And, to be honest, I think what I just said about the Dog Beach I could say to ANY beach...a good idea in theory. Sounds fun. Then you go and do it and, well, you know.
Good luck eating that hearty sandwich you brought for lunch. Might as well have blew a whistle and sent em all showing up. I'm in a chair doing what looks like leg bicycle exercises while I attempt to eat. Despite the less than tropic temps, just the sight of the ocean led the Big Scoop into the waves. After a break (where I sat as "blocker" and she dined in the back of the tent) she returned to the water. A little bit later, I considered what it would take to conspire to leave. Maybe 30 minutes or so from now, I'll start to put the word out.
As I neared the waves, 2 out of control dogs came out of nowhere and careened into the artist formerly known as Smiley's left knee...the very one surgically repaired years ago. Of course, no owners in sight, no one claiming anything, and as we tended to the fallen I felt my convictions being proven. See, rest this, I'll help pack up, we go.
I walk up to get the Big Scoop's towel and as I return to the water there is a commotion. As I look down she yelps "my foot really hurts!" There is blood. Well isn't this the fucking icing on the shitcake. This has become such a deal that 2 lifeguards have left the tower to come by. "Yeah, I think that's a stingray sting." What? There are fucking STINGRAYS about? Why aren't there signs? Why no warning from you 2? "Yeah, do you live nearby?" Um...no. "OK, what you gotta do is put it in hot water. That'll make it heal." While I appreciate your insight, could you maybe do you fucking job and help with, I don't know...a band aid? Anything?
Perhaps not wanting to bother with it or too stoned or wanting to be stoned, he agrees to take us to another lifeguard station to solve this. In the bed of a pickup, not inside, because the blood is getting all over and so are the screams. Upon arrival I have no idea where I am, but this lifeguard has a hose and a giant yellow plastic bag. The bag reads "STINGRAY" and over the screams and cries of those who "will never go in the ocean again" put the foot in the bag so that we can put in hot water - the kind of hot water that is at hot tub level, which feels so good to someone who is already bleeding and in pain. So begins a rather sick game of fill in, console as much as an inconsolable child will tolerate (in some of those moments she told me she "needs her space" which lasted about 15 seconds before I had to return to the Scoop), dump out, and repeat.
Soon enough, though, we are not alone: in comes a surfer in his 20s; even with foot coverings, for the same thing. Then a kayak victim on BOTH feet. And then a women who seemed on the verge of tears. And then another. Once the supplies of pain meds and ice cream arrived, I looked from one end to another: 8 wounded, 2 fellow surfers and 3 lifeguards onlooking, and me. That, after maybe 90 minutes, the wound was cleaned enough, pain subsided enough, attitude adjusted enough to leave for another hour-long drive, I was relieved more than I've been in years.
That night, at a Mexican restaurant, I ordered the tallest tumbler of sangria they served. I gave the big scoop a cheeseburger and enchiladas because she needed her strength. I kept being told "this will be SOME story one day. You'll always remember it." Shit, man, I'm still in the thick of it now. It's a story now, not in the future. It's one that the sangria healed, the Easter candy soothed, and the following night's dinner led everyone to agree: can the weirdo shit please stop?!
