Water, Water Everywhere And Not A Drop To Drink

When I was at uni, my friends (cruelly) dared me to strike up a conversation with a fellow bar patron. They identified him from across the crowded room as the man with the highest blood-alcohol content and, presently, the least dignity.

“Hey, you look familiar,” I said. “Do we have a class together?”

Through the haze of his intoxication, he had some difficulty recognizing that he didn’t recognize me. “Yeahhh,” he slurred. “Yeah. Friday mornings?” “That’s the one!” I lied. Who took Friday morning classes?

“What’s your name?” He inquired.

Faced with endless “cool” identities from which to choose, I believe I told him my name was Carol. Oof. No offense to the Carols of the world, but seriously? That’s my clandestine, sexy alter ego?

I can’t remember his name, but I remember that when I attempted to slip away discreetly, he began yelling, “CAROL!” and trying other equally subtle methods of catching my attention. FYI: Too drunk to stand does not equate to goldfish brain. We fled the scene soon after.

Aside from the obvious lesson, which is that lying is bad, I think the point of this story is that mental state can have an enormous impact on whether the world makes sense. Or doesn’t. And we’ve all found ourselves saying, sincerely,

“I swear we’ve met before.”

“Were you traveling through Uzbekistan last autumn?”

“Do you, by any chance, have a cousin in LA?”

And the Quiky Pro Gold Coast is probably where we said it.

—

While I’m pretty sure I can recall most events that happened during the fourteen (or so) days I spent in Coolangatta, I definitely can’t guarantee that I know the correct order in which those events occurred. The currents during the Quiksilver Pro tend to pull you toward 3 a.m. homecomings and 6 a.m. comp calls, so, essentially, it’s a grand ballet of work and play in which fourteen days end up feeling like three reaaaaaallllly, really long ones. (Yes, there was work.) My 336 crazy hours looked something like this:

I reunited with my sisters, surfed the Superbank, got sunburned, borrowed Kelly Slater’s identity, went on a half-blind date, gorged myself at Fresh Garden Cafe and Smoothie Bar and Raw Energy, and, obviously, got back to my Aussie beer adventure. What more can you ask for?