Angry Dyke Invades the Lineup

I’m bobbing in the lineup with a couple friends. We trade rides, blessed with the first head-high swell with offshore winds in months. We are a couple hundred yards off the main peak, surfing this not-so secret but not crowded spot. The nearby main break is a traffic jam of alpha males. We surf here, forgoing perfectly-lined point-break rights just 100 yards away for more unpredictable conditions but reaping the benefits of aloha spirit and sometimes rides of 150+ yards.

A middle-aged woman with very short-hair paddles right to us, lines up outside of us on her longboard without uttering a hello. No doubt about it, she can catch lots of waves but I along with my two mates confirm she is a wavehog.

After catching a long ride, she paddles back out. She has just caught three waves in a row without letting one of us catch one. She consistently lines up outside of us. A wave forms and I paddle outside to lineup. She battles me for position, intent on catching another wave.

She usually surfs the main point break and undoubtedly has developed her aggressive anti-Aloha domination surf habits because that’s what you gotta do to catch waves at the crowded break nearby.

So as the wave forms I can tell she plans on taking off. I lineup one foot away from her, blocking her out from catching another perfectly-tapered right.

“Jesus Christ!” she complains, with clear consternation.

“You’ve caught your quota today, young lady,” I respond.

“F*** You!” she shouts at me and then paddles away to her safe and secure spot outside the three of us.

At that point, I couldn’t help but say under my breath, “Nothing ruins a fun surf session like an angry Dyke.”

One of my friends I was surfing with is familiar with this woman. He confirmed my suspicion of her sexual orientation by telling me, “Yeah, she’s a dyke bitch.”

At that moment, I felt a bout of cosmic depression set in, as if the whole world just collapsed off its axis.

I thought I had evolved as a human being. I thought I realized the interconnectedness of all living things. I thought I had become a kind ambassador of God, yet fully believing in Darwin’s theories that we are inherently no different from each other; a creation-loving evolutionist.

I attended a junior high that had inner city kids bussed in. Half the school was low-income African Americans. When I was in the seventh grade, one day, I approached the pay phone to call my dad and ask him for a ride. Right before I picked up the phone, a black kid much bigger than me who obviously also had to use the phone said to me, “You pick up that phone, I’m gonna give you a black eye.”

That experience and a few others like that fomented in me a nasty habit of using the “N” word. It would be many years later that I, thank God, had an evolutionary shift and saw things in a different light and learned the art of compassion.

And now here I was feeling the same way I did in seventh grade, only using the “D” word instead.

What did it matter that this wavehog was a lesbian? After all, I’ve had the unfortunate experience of having my joy in the water be shattered by other invading wavehogs, who were all, in most probability, heterosexuals.

I have a few very close friends who like this wavehog are lesbian. I felt instantly ashamed of myself, but thankful that my lesbian friends weren’t there to hear me utter the dreadful “D” word.

The more proper course of action for me would have been to approach Ms. Wavehog and tell her something along the lines of:

“My friends and I have been here for about an hour trading waves and we feel angry that you’re trying to catch every wave. Would you mind sharing some waves or else find another spot if you’re not comfortable with that?”

Most likely, her response would have been similar to the one above when I told her she’d caught her quota, “F*** You!”

(Perhaps it would be a good idea for someone to write an instructional book on how to deal with wavehogs in the water.)

At the conclusion of my session I pondered approaching Ms. Hog and explaining to her why I blocked her off from catching that wave, in as an endearing, non-violent way as possible.

Ultimately, I didn’t approach her; I just did my best to ignore her and continue having a fun session.

About a week later, I had been surfing for an hour and a half at the same spot when I saw her paddle out. I was already stoked from catching lots of fun rides. Did I want to spoil my session by getting into another altercation with her? I decided to be like Michael Jordan and retire on top of my game. I caught one more wave and came in.

But like Michael Jordan, who ultimately came out of retirement (twice), I am certain to one day attract Ms. Wavehog back into my life.

At the very least, if she invades the spot where I usually surf and acts true to form, I will not confront her with the ugly, hateful language that classifies her sexuality.

After all, wavehogs are wavehogs, not because of their sexuality, but just because they are.

We are all one.

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