Don’t try to fight the heckler. Just accept his presence. Photo: Screenshot, Fair Bits
The parking lot is the epicenter of any local surf scene. Each break has its own unique cast of characters that converge here to check waves, towel change, and talk both shop and shit. This is where the who’s who of your wave riding community rub neoprene elbows while recounting their latest sessions in wildly inaccurate detail.
Though the players and hierarchy will differ, the one commonality all beach parking lots share is that there’s no question who’s in charge. Every one of these shoreside lots is home to a Mystery Machine-esque van that never leaves its self-assigned spot. Living inside this immobile home is not an off-the-grid transient or Instagram Van Life Couple, but surfing’s most important figure – The Parking Lot Heckler.
At the crack of noon each day, our hero rises, emerging from his van to the triumphant sound of empty tallboy cans rattling the pavement beneath his feet. All conversations cease as this local break’s king descends his Westfalia-emblazoned throne to interact with the surfing serfs. Fueled by a headache and freshly-lit cigarette, he proceeds to shout questions and insults at anyone in his field of vision.
His main goal is not to surf, but to accost anyone trying to surf. One part Mystery Science Theatre 3000, two-parts The Muppet Show’s Statler and Waldorf, and three-parts liquor, he’s a one-man peanut gallery sparing no surfer from meticulous criticism. He’s there to remind you every day that these are his waves and his beach. Until you earn his respect, you’re just another unwelcome guest in his home.
The Heckler is undoubtedly annoying to anyone outside of his circle. It’s hard not to be agitated by someone who spends all their waking hours prattling on about the summer of ’87 and firing drunken jabs at everyone in the water, while himself staying dry on land. But he is an essential part of surfing culture.
Surfing in its modern, Corporate-America era loves to paint a squeaky-clean image of the sport. From the slick merchandising of PacSun to the healthy lifestyles portrayed by WSL pros, everything has a hue of happiness and positivity. It’s like someone bottled the phrase “no worries,” slapped a smiley face on it, and sold it at Tillys. That’s why we need this Heckling Hater as a not-so-gentle reminder of the truth: that surfers hate other surfers. Modern surfing is 50 percent internalizing all of your anger, 45 percent throwing rank stink eyes, and five percent actual on-wave surfing. The Parking Lot Heckler is really just your identity personified.
He serves as the link to the rough and tumble days of surfing gone by where hard-partying and harsh assessments were the norm. Part of surfing’s mystique is that it’s filled with characters you need to traverse in order to gain acceptance in the community. Learning to surf used to be accompanied by a hint of trouble, or at the very least some difficult commentary from established veterans. Without these personalities – their critiques, put-downs, recklessness and all – surfing becomes one giant foam board: soft, forgiving, easy for everyone, and boring.
These eccentric champions of local surf culture will not likely earn a spot in any surfing hall of fame. They’re not decorated enough in traditional ways to crack those halls. Still, there should be a way to honor their contributions to protect the true surf experience. I propose encrusting an old Westfalia van in bronze and leaving it in a point break’s parking lot, door open and curtains drawn, forever enshrining The Parking Lot Heckler’s place at the top of the pecking order. While he never deserved any traditional awards, he certainly earned a Pabst Blue Ribbon.
