You are the septuagenarian codgers who regulate traffic coming in and out of San Onofre State Beach. After I pay $15 just to surf there, I then have to maneuver past you. You post in front of the Point, right where the road gets narrow; you clog up the area right across from the turd stalls. You growl and wave your crooked fingers at families and other visitors who—in your estimation—are driving too fast. Or maybe you just don’t like them surfing at “your” spot—a state beach. You leave your ciggy butts in the parking lot (which then flow into the ocean) while you display your actual butts to families and minors as you aimlessly stroll around the parking lot with your wetsuits pulled down. And you feel a sense of ownership of the Point simply because there are a number of you in a group and you all printed up counterfeit “San O Surf Club” shirts. I can’t complain too hard, I guess, because, after all, it is called “Old Man’s” for a reason. But if “Old Guys Rule,” try putting on a smile. Then get out of the road, drop the barking and long stares, pick up your trash, and just be friendly and surf.
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This column appeared in print as “Old Guys? Tools.”
