Hey guys, look I know you think you are rockin' those aviators. Heck what woman doesn't like staring into oversized pools of black? You may have committed the ultimate faux pas by going Euro style and sporting a speedo, thong, or maybe even that Borat special, a mankini, but it doesn't matter 'cause you are you. Hell, maybe you added sock padding for some extra cotton confidence. I don't fault you for that. Whatever works, right? So while you are spitting your mad game to that prone vixen thinking you need look no further for your evening's plans, let me tell you something. You're wrong, and in a moment I'll explain why.
When I last sat down and took to the keyboard, I discussed those warning signs for which lifeguards scour the sand. Those extremes and/or signs of ignorance that warn us that we best be warning you before there might not be a you to warn. It only stands to reason that in the midst of our constant search for potential rescues we discover that, well, the public is up to all sorts of shenanigans. Which brings us to round one:
The Pickup Artist
Let's take the fellow in the intro. Yeah, maybe I came down a bit hard on him. He's only trying to make an acquaintance or maybe something even more. He spied an attractive maiden, reached down deep and dug up the courage to approach her, and now he's only trying to seal the deal. Given him some props, right? Naaa... not when he's sporting that ensemble. Throw in a pot belly, a bear skin back along with an excessive amount of jewelry and that is just one visual shudder fest. Or priceless YouTube moment.
But it is not his obvious lack of sand sartorial skill that tells me that his evening plans are actually, for the moment, dinner, party of one. No, it is the woman. Why? Body language.
Fellows, if you approach a prone Penelope (that means she is lying on her stomach) and if after a minute or two of your best lines or obvious questions ("What are you reading?" "Is it any good?") she hasn't propped herself up on her elbows or rolled over to engage you in a more comfortable and friendly position, let me tell you, she's not interested. She is there to enjoy her day under the sun. She's not looking for company, especially yours. She just wants to be left alone. And as unappealing as it may seem, the best way to make a positive impression is to acknowledge her desire instead of forging ahead and clearly illustrating that you are committing that most cardinal of sins - you are not hearing her. Not all communication issues from the mouth. In fact, most of it doesn't.
If you continue to insist upon making her uncomfortable she may leave, politely shoo you away ("I have a boyfriend.") or lay waste to your ego with a righteous verbal smackdown. If she leaves, well that is just sad. She obviously doesn't know how to say, "Go away." and so instead that is what she does. Yes, she could benefit from a carton of confidence, but that is no reason for you to persist. Oh, and please don't follow her off the beach. If it appears predatory you will quickly discover that your actions did not go unnoticed. The police are our friends.
Response number two is the best for all parties involved. If you hear her gentle dismissal, you can depart with your pride intact and she can resume her sun-worshipping. If you don't - water, sand, ego in the ears, whatever the reason may be - well expect option number three. They tend to work hand in hand in an escalating fashion.
This final possibility is far more entertaining for us. Should your insistence be met with a Gina Carano elbow to the ego, take it like a man. Smile and walk away. Had you paid attention to her body cues and not the roar of your ego, you would have avoided the bruising in the first place. You would have made a good impression, and might have improved your chances the next time the two of you crossed paths. And if you approached a group of women, do expect to hear laughter and "Oh my god I thought he'd never leave." as you attempt a smooth exit. It comes with the territory.
Now if she does roll over, or prop herself up, or put down her book, take a deep breath and relax. She is willing to listen to what you have to say. And if she smiles (I am talking eyes AND mouth - just mouth is the same as remaining prone) well, sir, what you got yourself there is a golden ticket. Don't muck it up with the Sharpie of stupidity (example: do not kneel or stand with your crotch in her face, i.e. eye level. It happens so often...)
A note to the ladies, if you are ever uncomfortable at the beach, please remember the lifeguard is your friend. If you set up away from the public it is quite possible that you will find yourself badgered by ignorant brutes. Please do not hesitate to contact the lifeguard for assistance. She will be happy to aid you in whatever way she can.
© Copyright 2011 David S. Carpenter. All Rights Reserved.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Rescues Begin on the Sand
So where are the umbrellas, right? Well here's the thing. In conjunction with that blog, I will be creating and posting a humorous video demonstrating the proper installation of the beach umbrella. Whilst brainstorming for the video I realized that there is a far better way to illustrate my points. I just need a little help. I need a little love from Mumsy Nature. When she obliges with the correct elements, I shall oblige you, dear readers, with the correct techniques. Until then we will revisit the tower.
And I'll stop with the misdirection. Maybe.
During my last post I briefly touched upon what we lifeguards call "pre-water assessment." I didn't mention the term, but I described it in action. Remember the family with the coolers and cargo shorts? Skin so white that you gotta wear shades? That was pre-water assessment in action. That was the lifeguard recognizing that if left alone the family in question may have departed the beach with less than they arrived with, and I'm not talking about the contents of the coolers...
Lifeguards look for rescues well before they happen. Why? Simply put, there are a lot more of you than there are of us. It's a numbers game and the lifeguards strive to get the odds in their, and ultimately your favor. A former captain of mine said it the best, "When you are in the tower you are a lifeguard. When you are making a rescue you are a lifesaver." Now I am going to ignore all the obvious jokes about the tasty treat so low in calories and yet so good in the mouth and move on to explain the statement and its profound truth.
When I am in the water, I am not watching it. I am no longer looking for the next rescue, I am making it. So what do you think would happen if all the lifeguards were swimming to the screamers, shriekers, and sinkers? What do you think would happen if no one was watching the water? What do you think would happen if the "cooler" family took that moment to allow their little non-swimming 5 year old Johnny an unattended visit to the surf? And a wave knocked him off his feet? And he got tumbled under the water? And he hit his head? And he didn't resurface? All the lifeguards were in the water. No one is watching, not even the parents. How long before Johnny is recognized as absent? I've dealt with parents looking for their lost child and it is far from uncommon to get 30, 45, or 60 minutes as a response to the question, "How long has he been missing?" The trouble is I don't think Johnny can hold his breath that long.
Sounds morbid? Sure, I'm making a point. Sounds like bad parenting? I deal with it all the time. On a packed summer weekend, I was told (screamed at, actually) by a mother looking for her lost daughter, "She was playing in the sand in front of your tower! It was your job to watch her! Now earn your money and go find her!" I didn't take it personally. I'm sure the mother was as unaware of multiple rescues I had been making as she was of her daughter's location. "Ma'am, I am not a babysitter. My responsibility is all those at the beach, particularly those in the water. Now if I can get a description of your daughter we will do what we can to find her," was my tempered response. Her daughter was three towers down, still looking for sea shells. She didn't even know that she was lost. Kids... Or also appropriately, parents...
I'll go more in depth about lost children later, but for now let us return to pre-water assessment. When I scan the beach I am looking for, among other things:
Skin color - pale means sure as heck haven't spent any time at the beach or they wisely slather on the sunscreen and religiously reapply it. Red skin means they would rather invest in a dermatologist than a tube of the stuff. They, too, haven't been to the beach much, but unlike the lotion-lathered Morlocks, they have no clue as to the discomfort that awaits them that night.
Clothing - do they own a swim suit? 'Nuff said
Wetsuit - zipper in the front? You don't surf much do you?
Gait - staggering? Too much fun imbibing on the boardwalk means no fun on the beach. Alcohol and water do not mix. You get passive drownings with alcohol. The victims don't struggle at all. Just sink. Just take a nappy-nap in the middle of the surf. Think that is crazy? Ever seen a picture of someone passed out? My favorite is the guy with his face in the urinal. Yeah, I'm sure that made sense at the time, too.
Age - the very old and the very young can have difficulty in surf. Not always, but they can.
Disabilities - We got a guy. We call him One-legged Bob. He scares the crap out of every rookie because, well, he has one leg, and when he gets beyond the surf (which he does) he swims in a fashion as to appear as though he is constantly drowning. He's not. He's got one leg (no stump) and his other isn't great. Bob is an exception to the rule, as is Philippe Corizon who, limb-less, swam the English Channel in 2010 (http://www.wired.com/playbook/2010/09/channel-swim-amputee/) But as a rule of thumb it is important for lifeguards to be aware of obvious temporary and/or permanent impediments to play in the surf. My favorite is the guy with the full arm cast wrapped in a plastic bag heading on out to get him some waves.
Weight - as with age, the extremes are a concern. If you are so light a zephyr sends you a-tumblin' then expect much worse from the surf. If you are built like an offensive lineman but lack the conditioning, keep it shallow. I'm sure you don't want the embarrassment of being rescued, and, quite frankly, I'd rather not have to rescue you. You won't be pulling your weight back to the beach, I will. And, yes, I've seen many reedy or big men and women who own it in the surf. I'm not writing about them.
Flotation - legit surfers and body boarders do not need their boards in order to survive. They lose it? Well, they have a nice swim back to the beach. It's those who are utterly lacking in swimming skills and yet are utterly convinced that a piece of foam tethered to their wrist will keep them afloat and well beyond the reaper's grasp that concern the lifeguard. Why? Well, when they lose them, which they often do, they start drowning. How do you spot them? No wax on the surfboard and/or its leash around the wrist and/or a surfboard so aged and dinged as to suggest it was a recent garage sale "score" are several ways. Waterlogged, bent, and/or broken boogie boards with the leash around the ankle are others. A note on boogie boards: that $10-15 fabric-covered styrofoam special that you just bought from a street vendor or from your local supermarket? Yeah, that board... it's a piece of crap. And I am putting it kindly. Show up to the beach with that thing in tow and take off down the beach with it flipping erratically behind you is as clear a sign of ignorance as showing up to a white party dressed in red. Show up with one of those boards so broken that it makes you to appear to be riding a caterpillar in surf is even worse. It says, "I will be drowning in 5 minutes."
Now you know what we are looking for. Next, I'll share what we often see. Not all of it is pretty, but often it is humorous.
© Copyright 2011 David S. Carpenter. All Rights Reserved.
And I'll stop with the misdirection. Maybe.
During my last post I briefly touched upon what we lifeguards call "pre-water assessment." I didn't mention the term, but I described it in action. Remember the family with the coolers and cargo shorts? Skin so white that you gotta wear shades? That was pre-water assessment in action. That was the lifeguard recognizing that if left alone the family in question may have departed the beach with less than they arrived with, and I'm not talking about the contents of the coolers...
Lifeguards look for rescues well before they happen. Why? Simply put, there are a lot more of you than there are of us. It's a numbers game and the lifeguards strive to get the odds in their, and ultimately your favor. A former captain of mine said it the best, "When you are in the tower you are a lifeguard. When you are making a rescue you are a lifesaver." Now I am going to ignore all the obvious jokes about the tasty treat so low in calories and yet so good in the mouth and move on to explain the statement and its profound truth.
When I am in the water, I am not watching it. I am no longer looking for the next rescue, I am making it. So what do you think would happen if all the lifeguards were swimming to the screamers, shriekers, and sinkers? What do you think would happen if no one was watching the water? What do you think would happen if the "cooler" family took that moment to allow their little non-swimming 5 year old Johnny an unattended visit to the surf? And a wave knocked him off his feet? And he got tumbled under the water? And he hit his head? And he didn't resurface? All the lifeguards were in the water. No one is watching, not even the parents. How long before Johnny is recognized as absent? I've dealt with parents looking for their lost child and it is far from uncommon to get 30, 45, or 60 minutes as a response to the question, "How long has he been missing?" The trouble is I don't think Johnny can hold his breath that long.
Sounds morbid? Sure, I'm making a point. Sounds like bad parenting? I deal with it all the time. On a packed summer weekend, I was told (screamed at, actually) by a mother looking for her lost daughter, "She was playing in the sand in front of your tower! It was your job to watch her! Now earn your money and go find her!" I didn't take it personally. I'm sure the mother was as unaware of multiple rescues I had been making as she was of her daughter's location. "Ma'am, I am not a babysitter. My responsibility is all those at the beach, particularly those in the water. Now if I can get a description of your daughter we will do what we can to find her," was my tempered response. Her daughter was three towers down, still looking for sea shells. She didn't even know that she was lost. Kids... Or also appropriately, parents...
I'll go more in depth about lost children later, but for now let us return to pre-water assessment. When I scan the beach I am looking for, among other things:
Skin color - pale means sure as heck haven't spent any time at the beach or they wisely slather on the sunscreen and religiously reapply it. Red skin means they would rather invest in a dermatologist than a tube of the stuff. They, too, haven't been to the beach much, but unlike the lotion-lathered Morlocks, they have no clue as to the discomfort that awaits them that night.
Clothing - do they own a swim suit? 'Nuff said
Wetsuit - zipper in the front? You don't surf much do you?
Gait - staggering? Too much fun imbibing on the boardwalk means no fun on the beach. Alcohol and water do not mix. You get passive drownings with alcohol. The victims don't struggle at all. Just sink. Just take a nappy-nap in the middle of the surf. Think that is crazy? Ever seen a picture of someone passed out? My favorite is the guy with his face in the urinal. Yeah, I'm sure that made sense at the time, too.
Age - the very old and the very young can have difficulty in surf. Not always, but they can.
Disabilities - We got a guy. We call him One-legged Bob. He scares the crap out of every rookie because, well, he has one leg, and when he gets beyond the surf (which he does) he swims in a fashion as to appear as though he is constantly drowning. He's not. He's got one leg (no stump) and his other isn't great. Bob is an exception to the rule, as is Philippe Corizon who, limb-less, swam the English Channel in 2010 (http://www.wired.com/playbook/2010/09/channel-swim-amputee/) But as a rule of thumb it is important for lifeguards to be aware of obvious temporary and/or permanent impediments to play in the surf. My favorite is the guy with the full arm cast wrapped in a plastic bag heading on out to get him some waves.
Weight - as with age, the extremes are a concern. If you are so light a zephyr sends you a-tumblin' then expect much worse from the surf. If you are built like an offensive lineman but lack the conditioning, keep it shallow. I'm sure you don't want the embarrassment of being rescued, and, quite frankly, I'd rather not have to rescue you. You won't be pulling your weight back to the beach, I will. And, yes, I've seen many reedy or big men and women who own it in the surf. I'm not writing about them.
Flotation - legit surfers and body boarders do not need their boards in order to survive. They lose it? Well, they have a nice swim back to the beach. It's those who are utterly lacking in swimming skills and yet are utterly convinced that a piece of foam tethered to their wrist will keep them afloat and well beyond the reaper's grasp that concern the lifeguard. Why? Well, when they lose them, which they often do, they start drowning. How do you spot them? No wax on the surfboard and/or its leash around the wrist and/or a surfboard so aged and dinged as to suggest it was a recent garage sale "score" are several ways. Waterlogged, bent, and/or broken boogie boards with the leash around the ankle are others. A note on boogie boards: that $10-15 fabric-covered styrofoam special that you just bought from a street vendor or from your local supermarket? Yeah, that board... it's a piece of crap. And I am putting it kindly. Show up to the beach with that thing in tow and take off down the beach with it flipping erratically behind you is as clear a sign of ignorance as showing up to a white party dressed in red. Show up with one of those boards so broken that it makes you to appear to be riding a caterpillar in surf is even worse. It says, "I will be drowning in 5 minutes."
Now you know what we are looking for. Next, I'll share what we often see. Not all of it is pretty, but often it is humorous.
© Copyright 2011 David S. Carpenter. All Rights Reserved.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
So What Is Really Going on in There?
My first post posed the question, "What is he doing in there?" which ultimately went unanswered. Strategy, my dear friends, strategy. Leave the the curious desiring more and hopefully they return. Given that, it only seems appropriate that the next matter of business would be to pull back the curtain on our bronzed Oz and give the readers what was promised. So Toto, my furry friend, would you please do the honors?
Anyone briefly get the image of the Coppertone girl and her hairy harasser? I did, except it was an elderly fellow sporting a turn of the last century bathing suit and looking oh so white. Hum...
So what is going on inside the lifeguard tower? Simply put: the guard is watching the water. Yes, it is quite possible that you haven't seen the guard emerge for hours. Yes, there may be very little or no surf. Heck, the water may be so cold as to dissuade even our most intrepid bather from anything other than a toe test, but it doesn't matter. Not in the least. That lifeguard is watching the water...oh, and the beach around him/her.
Before I continue I should note the following, first this blog is about ocean lifeguarding. I did spend one year at a municipal pool and so, if appropriate, will post about pool policy/etiquette, but this is a blog about those men and women who provide protection at our best resource for play and exercise - the beach. Additionally, as the discipline is one pursued and executed by both sexes, future references to lifeguards will find the he and she interchangeable.
Now back to the matter at hand, the lifeguard watching the water. Eyes to binoculars, binos to beach, beach to water, up and down, back and forth. She is constantly searching for the next potential rescue. Notice that I wrote "potential." That is of particular importance. Why? The lifeguard doesn't wait until the crap zips itself into the Vornado. She doesn't want a manageable situation stirring itself into a shit storm of panicked, drowning swimmers. The lifeguard is looking for blissfully unaware swimmers splashing their way towards the maw of a hungry rip current. A rip current looking to suck them and their fabric covered styrofoam boogie boards out to sea. (Those boards don't boogie by the way, more like one-legged wiggle.) In being attentive, she is able to prevent most, if not all, the swimmers from an undesired reminder of their own mortality. Instead, she directs them to a much more desirable location for cavorting. In some cases that might be their car.
That's why we watch the water. Lifeguards do not enjoy the benefit firefighters do. We don't go about our day waiting for our next call. We actively scan for our next rescue, our next first aid, our next public assist, or whatever else we may be called to address. Not only do we make the call - dial 911 so to speak - we then respond to the emergency as well. If we are not looking then that call goes unnoticed and someone, or worse, people lose their lives. Try going home with that at the end of your day.
And not every emergency starts in the water or at its edge. No, the lifeguard is also paying attention to all that is going on around him. Consider this: if you saw a family of five traipse on down from the parking lot lugging coolers and chairs with skin that makes Snow White look Tahitian, dressed in cargo shorts and tank tops with no apparent signs of swimsuits but carrying boogie boards and inner tubes, what would you think (other than that was a long-ass sentence?) Would you think this group has been to the beach before? Would you think that they actually know how to use their water equipment in surf that is occasionally head high? Would you think it would be a swell idea for them to just go ride the wild surf in their cargo shorts and tank tops? I'm guessing "No," and if I guessed right then you did as well.
So what do you do? If the beach allows you to do so, head on over, introduce yourself, and in an oh so pleasant fashion suggest that they keep it shallow and then explain why. Now this group could end up surprising you, and at times this does happen, but exceedingly more often than not the opposite proves to be the case. I guess in this day and paranoid age this approach is called profiling. I call it protecting the public from themselves and arming them with information that will prove useful throughout the rest of their lives because that intervention may have just extended theirs beyond the day. And, as often is the case, they end up thanking you, follow your advice, and share it with others when they return home.
By the way, you tell them about sunscreen too.
So that is what the lifeguard is doing. Watching the water. Watching the beach. He's not reading the paper. She's not flipping through the latest issue of Surfer. He's not updating his Facebook status or checking out his fantasy football results. She's not painting her nails or catching some zzz's behind those dark shades of hers. No, they are just scanning their way through the day, sending out their danger sonar pings, hoping that nothing comes back but prepared if it does. See, that is the thing. Most days a lifeguard never knows if something is going to happen. On big surf days with a crowded beach, it is easy to figure that out. The whole place is a hazard zone and the day is going to be relentless in terms of emergencies - real or potential. It's the calm, quiet, overcast days that are the worst. The lifeguard never knows when someone is going to attempt suicide, or radically overestimate his surfing ability, or go for a swim when she don't know how to (yes, this is separate from suicide, and, yes, I have rescued this type of person - on numerous occasions.) The lifeguard doesn't know the "when" or the "where" or the "if" and so he does the only thing he can do. He watches the water.
As for remaining in the tower, the best sunscreen is a building.
Next post, believe it or not, it is going to be umbrellas. Might seem inconsequential, but given what I've witnessed there's some ignorance that needs addressing, and in doing so I just might save a few individuals from the painful groin shots given by the runaway sun shade.
© Copyright 2011 David S. Carpenter. All Rights Reserved.
Anyone briefly get the image of the Coppertone girl and her hairy harasser? I did, except it was an elderly fellow sporting a turn of the last century bathing suit and looking oh so white. Hum...
So what is going on inside the lifeguard tower? Simply put: the guard is watching the water. Yes, it is quite possible that you haven't seen the guard emerge for hours. Yes, there may be very little or no surf. Heck, the water may be so cold as to dissuade even our most intrepid bather from anything other than a toe test, but it doesn't matter. Not in the least. That lifeguard is watching the water...oh, and the beach around him/her.
Before I continue I should note the following, first this blog is about ocean lifeguarding. I did spend one year at a municipal pool and so, if appropriate, will post about pool policy/etiquette, but this is a blog about those men and women who provide protection at our best resource for play and exercise - the beach. Additionally, as the discipline is one pursued and executed by both sexes, future references to lifeguards will find the he and she interchangeable.
Now back to the matter at hand, the lifeguard watching the water. Eyes to binoculars, binos to beach, beach to water, up and down, back and forth. She is constantly searching for the next potential rescue. Notice that I wrote "potential." That is of particular importance. Why? The lifeguard doesn't wait until the crap zips itself into the Vornado. She doesn't want a manageable situation stirring itself into a shit storm of panicked, drowning swimmers. The lifeguard is looking for blissfully unaware swimmers splashing their way towards the maw of a hungry rip current. A rip current looking to suck them and their fabric covered styrofoam boogie boards out to sea. (Those boards don't boogie by the way, more like one-legged wiggle.) In being attentive, she is able to prevent most, if not all, the swimmers from an undesired reminder of their own mortality. Instead, she directs them to a much more desirable location for cavorting. In some cases that might be their car.
That's why we watch the water. Lifeguards do not enjoy the benefit firefighters do. We don't go about our day waiting for our next call. We actively scan for our next rescue, our next first aid, our next public assist, or whatever else we may be called to address. Not only do we make the call - dial 911 so to speak - we then respond to the emergency as well. If we are not looking then that call goes unnoticed and someone, or worse, people lose their lives. Try going home with that at the end of your day.
And not every emergency starts in the water or at its edge. No, the lifeguard is also paying attention to all that is going on around him. Consider this: if you saw a family of five traipse on down from the parking lot lugging coolers and chairs with skin that makes Snow White look Tahitian, dressed in cargo shorts and tank tops with no apparent signs of swimsuits but carrying boogie boards and inner tubes, what would you think (other than that was a long-ass sentence?) Would you think this group has been to the beach before? Would you think that they actually know how to use their water equipment in surf that is occasionally head high? Would you think it would be a swell idea for them to just go ride the wild surf in their cargo shorts and tank tops? I'm guessing "No," and if I guessed right then you did as well.
So what do you do? If the beach allows you to do so, head on over, introduce yourself, and in an oh so pleasant fashion suggest that they keep it shallow and then explain why. Now this group could end up surprising you, and at times this does happen, but exceedingly more often than not the opposite proves to be the case. I guess in this day and paranoid age this approach is called profiling. I call it protecting the public from themselves and arming them with information that will prove useful throughout the rest of their lives because that intervention may have just extended theirs beyond the day. And, as often is the case, they end up thanking you, follow your advice, and share it with others when they return home.
By the way, you tell them about sunscreen too.
So that is what the lifeguard is doing. Watching the water. Watching the beach. He's not reading the paper. She's not flipping through the latest issue of Surfer. He's not updating his Facebook status or checking out his fantasy football results. She's not painting her nails or catching some zzz's behind those dark shades of hers. No, they are just scanning their way through the day, sending out their danger sonar pings, hoping that nothing comes back but prepared if it does. See, that is the thing. Most days a lifeguard never knows if something is going to happen. On big surf days with a crowded beach, it is easy to figure that out. The whole place is a hazard zone and the day is going to be relentless in terms of emergencies - real or potential. It's the calm, quiet, overcast days that are the worst. The lifeguard never knows when someone is going to attempt suicide, or radically overestimate his surfing ability, or go for a swim when she don't know how to (yes, this is separate from suicide, and, yes, I have rescued this type of person - on numerous occasions.) The lifeguard doesn't know the "when" or the "where" or the "if" and so he does the only thing he can do. He watches the water.
As for remaining in the tower, the best sunscreen is a building.
Next post, believe it or not, it is going to be umbrellas. Might seem inconsequential, but given what I've witnessed there's some ignorance that needs addressing, and in doing so I just might save a few individuals from the painful groin shots given by the runaway sun shade.
© Copyright 2011 David S. Carpenter. All Rights Reserved.
Monday, January 10, 2011
An Introduction by Way of Explanation
Cue the foghorn, add dissonant clanks and radio static, and then bring on the voice soaking in whiskey and scarred by cigarettes. To paraphrase Tom Waits, "What's he doing in there?" or certainly "What's she doing in there?" What indeed are the lifeguards doing in there? What are they doing in the tower?
I have been a ocean lifeguard now for over twenty years and the question of what does a lifeguard do, be it inside the tower, on its deck, on the beach, or in the water has been so commonplace amongst friends, family, and beach goers that it is about time someone took the time to answer it. And by someone I mean me. And by "it" I mean, "What does a lifeguard do?"
Sounds simple enough, right? So first things, first.
Obviously there is a classical stereotype of the lifeguard. Typically male and a handsome one at that, he is blessed with perfect pecs, eight-pack abs, and hair either outright the color of or influenced by the sun. The lifeguard knows how to surf, shred actually (to those of you not in the know, to shred is to own the wave with effortless, aggressive grace, see also: to carve, to rip) and is the envy of all fellows in attendance due to the ease at which he secures the longing stares and ultimately phone numbers (aka "digits") of all the beach-going beauties. With his eyes hidden behind the shade of sunglasses, the lifeguard walks about with the incumbent confidence that comes as a direct result of spending his day five-sixths naked, clad only in a bathing suit, "the reds" as they are known. He digs his toes deep into the beach sand, unaware of its heat and untouched by its sometimes blistering effect. He swings his red rescue can (or carries a rescue tube) signaling to the guards around him, and totes his fins either in hand or tucked in the back of his reds. He soothes lost children with a velvet voice. He cures the sick. He feeds the poor.
And occasionally he makes rescues.
And when he opens his mouth he sounds like Spicoli. Meaning his grey matter has not found the whet stone of education as well as been dulled by multiple recreational excesses, be they alcohol, toking the fatty, or any variety of over/under/beyond the counter pharmaceuticals and any combination thereof.
Anyone hear the air come out of the balloon?
Since the creation of "Baywatch" the female lifeguard stereotype has also found footing. Two words, or actually, two letters: C.J. (Pamela Anderson's character.) It is anything but uncommon to be asked, "Where's Pamela?" by men seeking to take a photo with a lifeguard; their leers creeping to the surface. And when they are asking for Pamela, they are not seeking a svelte woman of athletic prowess. Instead they are asking for a huge-bosomed caricature of a female that coaxes the crotch to an alert state with each slow-motioned step she takes, rocking music providing the romantic background. A lioness with a huge, unruly, magnificent blonde mane exuding sex with every twist of her head and thrust of her hip is their quarry. A Barbie doll in a red bathing suit.
And yes, when she opens her mouth, although breathy in its delivery, her smarts, too, are in absence.
Which brings me back to the purpose of this blog. Over the course of its existence, I will provide answers to questions about what we men and women of the discipline do whilst watching water, and the people who seek to play in its grasp. Additionally, exploding stereotypes will be on the agenda as will the sharing essential ocean knowledge fundamental to enjoying a safe day at the beach be it alone or with friends and family. And, as evidenced by the subtitle "Eyes on the world," I will at times comment on what I see going on around me, because that is what we lifeguards do. We watch. We watch the water. We watch the people. We watch our world. We watch and we wait. Please feel free to respond.
© Copyright 2011 David S. Carpenter. All Rights Reserved.
I have been a ocean lifeguard now for over twenty years and the question of what does a lifeguard do, be it inside the tower, on its deck, on the beach, or in the water has been so commonplace amongst friends, family, and beach goers that it is about time someone took the time to answer it. And by someone I mean me. And by "it" I mean, "What does a lifeguard do?"
Sounds simple enough, right? So first things, first.
Obviously there is a classical stereotype of the lifeguard. Typically male and a handsome one at that, he is blessed with perfect pecs, eight-pack abs, and hair either outright the color of or influenced by the sun. The lifeguard knows how to surf, shred actually (to those of you not in the know, to shred is to own the wave with effortless, aggressive grace, see also: to carve, to rip) and is the envy of all fellows in attendance due to the ease at which he secures the longing stares and ultimately phone numbers (aka "digits") of all the beach-going beauties. With his eyes hidden behind the shade of sunglasses, the lifeguard walks about with the incumbent confidence that comes as a direct result of spending his day five-sixths naked, clad only in a bathing suit, "the reds" as they are known. He digs his toes deep into the beach sand, unaware of its heat and untouched by its sometimes blistering effect. He swings his red rescue can (or carries a rescue tube) signaling to the guards around him, and totes his fins either in hand or tucked in the back of his reds. He soothes lost children with a velvet voice. He cures the sick. He feeds the poor.
And occasionally he makes rescues.
And when he opens his mouth he sounds like Spicoli. Meaning his grey matter has not found the whet stone of education as well as been dulled by multiple recreational excesses, be they alcohol, toking the fatty, or any variety of over/under/beyond the counter pharmaceuticals and any combination thereof.
Anyone hear the air come out of the balloon?
Since the creation of "Baywatch" the female lifeguard stereotype has also found footing. Two words, or actually, two letters: C.J. (Pamela Anderson's character.) It is anything but uncommon to be asked, "Where's Pamela?" by men seeking to take a photo with a lifeguard; their leers creeping to the surface. And when they are asking for Pamela, they are not seeking a svelte woman of athletic prowess. Instead they are asking for a huge-bosomed caricature of a female that coaxes the crotch to an alert state with each slow-motioned step she takes, rocking music providing the romantic background. A lioness with a huge, unruly, magnificent blonde mane exuding sex with every twist of her head and thrust of her hip is their quarry. A Barbie doll in a red bathing suit.
And yes, when she opens her mouth, although breathy in its delivery, her smarts, too, are in absence.
Which brings me back to the purpose of this blog. Over the course of its existence, I will provide answers to questions about what we men and women of the discipline do whilst watching water, and the people who seek to play in its grasp. Additionally, exploding stereotypes will be on the agenda as will the sharing essential ocean knowledge fundamental to enjoying a safe day at the beach be it alone or with friends and family. And, as evidenced by the subtitle "Eyes on the world," I will at times comment on what I see going on around me, because that is what we lifeguards do. We watch. We watch the water. We watch the people. We watch our world. We watch and we wait. Please feel free to respond.
© Copyright 2011 David S. Carpenter. All Rights Reserved.
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