- Stay in a Bed and Breakfast: Big name hotels are overrated and taxed to death, passing on the overhead to you the consumer. Free yourself from the claustrophobic chambers of a three star and boss vacay in style. Most B&Bs are locally owned and comparingly priced with hotels, keeping your hard earned cash in the hands of Hawaii residents and not diluted through a national chain. B&Bs are run by small business owners and pride themselves on customer satisfaction as opposed to big hotels that formulate profits and deal with occupancy numbers. Hotel formula: happiness = don’t give a fuck Continue reading How to Tour Hawaii Like A Boss
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.
5:30pm. Courts, Ala Moana. A town break, known for its quick pitching face and high speed “rights”. Another Honolulu afternoon begins its farewells. Sky, orange. The typical baby blue now shunned by the distant setting sun. The ocean, now a deep bluish-green. Tinted with mirrored images of orange clouds.
Last wave in. I’m pau…
Rewind. 2:30pm. Another gorgeous day in Hawaii. Time to catch the few remaining waves of the dying south swell. I take a quick spin through the park. Oogling over the bettys working on their tans. I parallel
park my shit mobile. Wax up the board. Give the quick head jolt and throw a lazy shaka to the uncles next to me. They head jolt me back. But too lazy to put down their green bottles for a return shaka. Minors. They’ve refined the art of enjoying the afternoon in the city. Cooler. Beer. Beach. Laughter. Simplicity at it’s finest.
There’s not much to do while waiting in between sets. I stare at the postcard image of Diamond Head. It stares back but says nothing. I take a dive to cool off from the blazing Hawaiian sun. Going as deep as I can before equalizing. Look, a kala.! There IS fish on Oahu. A lung full of air I breath, as I surface facing the city. A rainbow, sitting pretty in the valley of Manoa. Reflections of other reflections off the twenty story glass pane monstrosities. Blue Hawaiian Chopper tours whizzes by. A honu comes up for air as well. Boring. Enough with writing poetry in my head. Send some damn waves already.
I surf the afternoon away, building up an appetite. Almost evening. Last wave in. Im pau…
Set comes. I huli my 10’0″ and face it to Manoa Valleys rainbow. Paddle. Drop in. Bottom turn. 10 foot shark. A beauty of a fish. Dark grayish brown back. Head, twice the size of mine. But seriously, why the fuck you gotta swim on the same wave as me Mr. Shark. I don’t like to share. But there he was. As long as my ten foot tanker. I almost jumped off my board because of his proximity. He could of held my right side rail with his fin if he wanted to. But that would be asinine if I did. Because, in the water, is last place I want to be. Out of fear, I turn over control of my body to my brain. HOLY SHIT SHARK!! is what comes out of my mouth. My left hand, uncontrollably imitates a shark fin and rests itself on the top of my head. More profanities are being spit out. I’m rusty on Jesus Christ moves, so the whole walk on water miracle wasn’t going to happen. I surf straight in. Fuck the cutbacks and nose rides. No tricks on this wave. My Japanese eyes aren’t Japanese anymore. It transforms into menpachi eyes. I didn’t know my asian eyes could stretch that much. My body glues itself to the board. I surf past a stand up paddler. He chuckles and smiles, asking, “What, you seen one shark?” I point behind me with my unused hand, dropping more F bombs. “He fucking right there!” “Fucking huge!” It was a lie, of course. I didn’t know where the shark went. I didn’t want to look.
Finally reach shore. Safe. Laugh. Thinking, oh my god, I must’ve looked like a fool. Imagining the other surfers out there witnessing my reactions and what they must be thinking. “How’s this moron coming down the wave, with severe tourettes and his shark fin hand on his head?” I learned something about myself. My vulgarity levels multiply and when scared shit less, I become a master at Charades. Other than that, it was the the most exciting “last wave” in my life.
I ironically cook fish for dinner, in tribute of the close encounter. Resembling the moment that I was almost fish food. Tomorrow, surf. This time I’ll bring a bucket. If this shit happens again, at least I’ll have something to carry all the bricks that I’ll shit out.