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.
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