WHISKEY
Stepping into the shop, I’m bombarded by the harsh punk music flowing out of the speakers at a decibel that should leave any who enter deaf. I walk directly to the empty cashier’s desk. Spinning the knob for the volume, bringing the angst filled squelch way down, immediately the boards on the wall stop vibrating, and the clientele all turn my way. Fabulous. A new way to be singled out today.
“Gruber!” I yell into the expansive zone.
“He’s...Hey! You’re him, man! You’re a fucking legend!” The kid, no older than my brother, beams with excitement as he tromps toward me. His bright board shorts hang low on his hips, his ripped blue RipZone tank is faded, and obviously well loved, and the perfectly coiffed, yet flowing, haphazard hair tells me he’s a surfer. I doubt he’s touched snow in his lifetime, but I respect him.
The waves of the ocean give you almost the same exhilaration and feel. Knowing that you have only so much control over the element that you ride is what we chase. A wave can be as dangerous as a snow drift—unforgiving, yet ever changing. It’s harsh enough to sweep you away in a second, never to be heard from again. You would be a memory. That is what keeps us pushing harder against that unyielding foe.
“Yeah, I guess I am.” Flicking the keys in my hand, I sneer. “The Legend.”
That’s a first.
“Yeah man, you’re him for sure. Anyway, Gru is out back testing some new blood.” Starting away from him, he sticks out his hand, expecting a quirky handshake or stupid high-five.
Shaking my head and blowing out a heavy breath, I start off down the long row of merchandise. “Sorry man, not happening.” I’m not here for autographs or friendships. I’m here for business.
Walking along, touching the odd board, I relish the smooth texture of the face. The wax free base that awaits love and care is perfection. Our type of love is brutal. Every board has a soul that calls out to be ridden, and whether meant for water or snow, they want to be used. Hanging on a wall, waiting for the touch of greatness, most of these boards will be owned by some weekend warrior with a death wish to try out a rough wave with an ‘epic’ board. They’ll buy what they think is right by name instead of what’s best for their skill. The only thing it will create is work for the coast patrols when they have to drag out another dead body from the ocean.
I see it all the time on the mountains. Hell, most times, I’m the rough bastard stopping some moron on the hill, ripping them off the board and making them walk back down as I carry their thousand-dollar board to the bottom. They don’t wear the right equipment, they don’t prepare for it, and they sure as shit don’t take lessons to learn how to ride. They’re a menace to those who know what they’re doing.
Coming closer to the back of the building, I hear Gruber teaching a Wet Ear.
“Good. Now lean to the left,” he says, just before I hear a big splash. Rounding the corner, I see the wave pool, and Gruber leaning against the wall. His T-shirt is wet, his hair is a mess from running his hands through it, and the scowl on his face tells it all. He’s beat. Looking my way, I give him a chin raise.
“Well look who’s here, the Powder King himself.”
Walking over, he embraces me in a hug. I don’t like it, I never have, but it’s Gruber and it’s expected. He’s a hugger.
“How’s the fish?”
As a young girl half my sister’s age pops up out of the water, she drags her hair out of her face, grinning from ear to ear. “She’s persistent,” Gruber says, scowling deeper. “Meadow, go clean up. That’s it for today.”
Jumping from the pool with a smile, Meadow heads off to the change rooms. Gruber slows the flow of the pool until the wave quits and the water quiets. Absently, I watch her walk away. She’s pretty, but it won’t save her on the unforgiving water.
“She’s a fucking menace. She has no talent at all, but her father is an expert rider. She idolizes him. Sad, really. She’ll die to be the same as him.”
“Ain’t that the truth. Why not stop her?”
Huffing, he sags his shoulders. “I’ve told her she’s not ready for the water. I’ve told her father, too. She needs to find something else to do with him, but she’s the apple of his eye. He’ll deny her nothing.”
“And what if I said she’s not welcome here anymore for training? Would it deter her, or push her further to do it anyway?” Yeah, I’m sure she’ll just do it anyway, but it’s my business, and I can’t have a death on my head. Not one that I could prevent at least.
“She’s stubborn. She’ll be back here in a week with more money. Dad’s some movie exec, more money than he knows what to do with. He’ll spend anything to make her happy.”
That’s one father I idolize then. I’m not pissing and moaning about mine, but what I wouldn’t have given to hear he’d do anything to make me happy. Even just to say he was happy would’ve been a start. Pushing that out of mind, I get back to the task at hand.
“You mind showing me the problem?”
“Yeah.” Stepping off the wall, he motions with his fingers for me to follow. “Come this way.”
Following Gruber down the row past the wave pool, past the snowboard / ski treadmills, we come to the very back of the building. Without him saying a word, I see it immediately.
“When the fuck did this happen? And why didn’t you move them?”
“What can I say, Whiskey? We haven’t had rain in years, and no one knew there was a leak in the roof. Fucking Cali weather this year is what caused it.” Picking one up, I thumb the swollen edges. The disaster is profound.
“Fuck, Gru. There has to be fifty fucking boards in here at least.”
“Ninety-three.”
I’m aghast, and disgusted.
“What! Almost a hundred boards destroyed?” Looking at the pile, I can’t believe there’s that many. “You have got to be kidding me?”
Pushing a few out of the way, I pick a board like the one I ride. I know it’s worth five thousand dollars alone. It’s garbage now. The board is warped, the core is swelled beyond repair, and the edge is peeled off. Seeing the varnish bubbled off the meticulous design, I feel a bit of my heart flake off. These are as important to me as my own arm. Boards have been my life for longer than I can remember, so seeing one—hundreds, in the same stage of decay hurts my soul.
Garnering a level of cool I didn’t think I possessed, I lay the board down and turn back to Gruber. “How much of the other merchandise was wrecked?”
Thinking about his answer before giving me more bad news, Gruber picks up a clip board. “There were nine boxes of Rip, six of Burton, three of NeverSummer, two SuP board covers, three snowboard covers stained, and the roof. I’m told we’re over 50k just to fix the roof. It’s 10k for the merch, and at least 85k for the boards, not including the signed ones.”
“There were signed ones back here? Why the fuck...No. You know what? I don’t care. It doesn’t matter. There’s damage of over a hundred thousand, and I haven’t even fixed the inside of the building.” Pacing the floor, walking back and forth between the damaged merchandise, Gruber stays quiet. Walking toward the exit, Gru says nothing as I pop the lock and step outside.
“Not fucking great,” I say as the heavy fire door clunks behind me. I’m exhausted thinking of the time and money this will cost me. “I can’t handle one more fucking thing going wrong today.”
The back of Powder Kings is in a tight, fenced-in area. With high walls on all sides, there’s no way to get in here without a fireman’s ladder. Looking up the side of the building, I see the ladder that gives us roof access stowed up high. Unlatching the lower half, I bring it down, wanting to see the damage myself.
Hitting that first rung is heavy—like a weight on my shoulders I didn’t need—but by the time I reach the top, I feel like a mountain is covering every inch of me.
Looking at the damage, it’s hard to imagine. Cali has been in a drought for years. And yeah, it’s been dry for a week, but the excessive rain we had for the last month almost lifted the whole roof. Gingerly walking around, I pad across the sides, staying away from the soft area where the leak was.
“Fourteen thousand square feet of roof. This is going to be a fucking fortune.” It’s not that I don’t have the cash for it, but it’s not what I had in mind when I bought this rundown shop. Gruber was barely afloat with his costs mounting, and no one with any business sense would back him. I’ve learned. I’ve had more financial education than most. I’m not Wall Street smart, but I’m good enough to make back a profit on a failing business.
Bending down, I lift a roof tile that’s loose and curse loudly. I’m sure they can hear me inside, as well as the adjacent buildings, too.
“Fucking money pit.”
Yeah, that’s what I bought. Now I either suck it up and fix it, then turn a profit after insurance covers all the damage, or sell the sinking ship and run like hell. Problem is, I have a hard time giving up when there’s a chance I can see the potential and worth of something. There’s a profit to be made here. I know it.
Backing down the stairs and coming to the bottom, Gru is waiting for me. “Saw it, did ya?”
I nod, unhappy at the result. “Yeah. Not much worth saving. We’ll need a whole new roof. Get a contractor out and get it appraised. I’ll contact insurance.”
“Sure, no problem.”
Pulling out my phone, I say, “I’m off to do a few things for family. You need me, you call.”
“Got it, Boss.”
Fuck..