If I was a Lifeguard, no one would be rescued because swimmers would be waving for help and due to my extreme social behavior, I would be waving back. Thank goodness for Hawaii County Lifeguard, Rick L. Losman. I got to sit with Rick and interview him about life as a Lifeguard and being frugal with hand gestures.
What was your inspiration to become a Lifeguard for Hawaii County?
That would be in 1995, when I was living in Lapahoehoe and I was blessed to have an old Hawaiian man as a neighbor. He had asked to kokua (help) paint the swimming pool roof. (Laughing) Being from the mainland I didn’t know what that (kokua) meant. The Lifeguard at the time Ms. Bowman was holding a CPR and lifeguarding class and invited me to take the course. I didn’t want to at the time, but I showed up that night. Later I took the test and got a phone call saying you’re hired for the summer of ’96. And I’ve been a Lifeguard since.
Sometimes, I visit basking turtles and start up a conversation. Unlike the babes on the beach, they can’t just up and walk away. Plus, most Betties start to (pretend) text when the lost of interest sets in. A tactic I commonly use on Mormons.
I found Hershel taking a nap in the tide-pools. Before he could get some shut eye, I quickly polled him then took his photo without his consent, forever stealing his turtle soul.
Because I’m such a lightweight, I would be passed out behind the bar from my own products. My tip jar would be empty, the bar would be raided and there would be a half naked bartend laying on the floor. Thankfully I write and not bartend. Honolulu bartender Aria Kamahoahoa, who excels at both, shares her stories in a laughrageous Q&A that exposes the pitfalls and triumphs of serving the thirsty in Paradise.
How did you go from bar patron to bartender?
Long story short, when my ex and I split up, I worked a second job to survive, but I was spending more money in a bar than I needed to. Coincidently my girlfriend told me a bar was looking for a server and suggested I apply there. Her words were “you’re always in a bar, why don’t you work in one?” I was apprehensive at first but when the owner told me in the interview about nikohana(high commission), I was all about it. Drink and get paid to do it?! Fuuuck. Sold! Sign me the fuck up.
Bartenders are known for lending an ear. What stories stand out among the rest?
Geez. Really? I’ve heard it ALL. Stands out…This guy who comes in once in a while with a different chick almost every time told me once that he has a goal of fucking 100 chicks before he reaches the age where he has to use Viagra. He told me he had fat pussy, old wrinkled pussy, married pussy, fresh 18 year old pink, threesomes, orgies, all kine. Braddah(dude) was proud of it. AND he had the nerve to hit on ME even AFTER I told him he was disgusting! I mean, braddah was good looking, I give him that but fuck! So when he’d come in by himself he would tell me how the last chick he brought in was. I gotta say, it’s pretty entertaining to hear his stories tho. It’s like he’s warming up my engine before I go meet the boo to let him drive me. Hard.
This article caught my eye being born, raised and still living on an island. Although the Hawaiian Islands formation was from a different process, it is still remarkable to discover new (to me) information of the evolution of our planet. Looks like the editor of the Book of Genesis is rolling in his grave. Or is it heaven?
Today, a friendly couple from Wisconsin approached me and asked the common questions from Hawaii vacationers. How do I get here? Where is a great place to eat? What language are you speaking? The question that made the highlight reel was when the adorable Wisconsin lass asked where can she see a Ninny. What she meant to say was Nene, pronounced ney-ney, as in Hawaii’s state bird.
I get sideswiped by similar questions a lot, and are usually followed by silence and three seconds of awkward eye contact. The first of three seconds, I’m thinking what the hell is Ninny. She’s thinking, I hope I get to see a Ninny. The second following the first, I’m thinking I am missing information that I should know, like seriously what the hell is a Ninny? She’s thinking, maybe I should ask someone else because it’s been two seconds without a response. The final second, I’m thinking that I need a haircut and the burger I just ate was over 550 calories. Also, she probably meant Nene, and is mispronouncing it as a Wisconsinan would most likely do. She’s thinking, one more second of this shit and the world is going to explode.
Fortunately the world didn’t explode but my brain almost did. Googling every brain cell in a fraction of second and attempting to withdraw the context of her question, cost me every calorie of that juicy burger. We enjoyed a great conversation after the Ninny Nene debacle was resolved and the womans flushed cheeks quickly dissipated with laughter. I became engaged in how Wisconsinans tolerate below freezing temperature. The type of game they hunt. Daily routines. Avoiding wolves. And vice versa. Yeah, we don’t have to worry about the alpha, omega and everything in between trying to rip us to shreds, I tell them. But we do have mongoose, and If you don’t sleep with your hand down your pants, the mongoose will come and steal your nuts.
I exhaled holy shit as a cloud of drones erupt and swarms toward our direction. The hive that dangled off a tree, now a remnant pile on the bottom of the gulch. Randall ran yelling, I think I have one in my shirt. Fuck I do! Brah, i think it’s on your neck, I reply trying to keep up with Randalls pace. Shit they’re everywhere, Tony screams behind me. We hastily scramble up the embankment of the gulch and into a backyard. I yell at my two friends scurrying behind a derelict house, Hurry up and find the hose!
I slap myself silly attempting to shoo bees away from my face and spontaneously breaking into interpretative dance. Randall now shirtless, frantically tries to find the end of a coiled up garden hose with his mouth closed and lips tucked in, hoping to avoid a former traumatic fat lip incident. Tony, busy defending the onslaught with one hand while the other hand turns the spigot. Picture Three Stooges doing an Abbott and Costello routine while Benny Hills intro plays in the background. With a bit of stinging profanities whizzing by, Tony gets the water running. Randall gasps for a breath of air as jets of water spray around us. I stop wishing for time to rewind five minutes and check my baseball cap that had slipped my mind during the chaos. Wow, a bee without its stinger. My forehead begins to hurt but is quickly subdued by the infectious laughter of three idiots.
I was the expert of adding salt to a wound but if shit ever hit the fan, I would somehow end up as the fan.