People always have some glorified view of lifeguards.

I mean, anyone who would look at my buff body, and the 220 pounds hanging on my 6’4" frame would think I’m just a glamour boy. But I do have feelings. I like to think I’m a sensitive artist trapped in a handsome lifeguard’s body.

Back when I was getting my phys ed degree at San Bernardo Junior College (Motto: "Providing Quality Higher Education Since 1991" – ed.), I began to explore my artistic self. The teacher of my Basic Drawing course said I had masterful control of my lines (although I always hear that from women, if ya know what I mean). I took a Romantic Poetry class to meet chicks, but, to my surprise, what I actually think I fell in love with was poetry. Haiku, for instance, is really cool.

Sitting in my tower one day, I composed the following:

Shifting beach of sand

So many grains expanding

I am their keeper

But, back to my day. It was a Tuesday morning, and I’d been assigned to Tower 9, a pretty nice stretch of beach. Which is to say, not much white trash. Lots of families, but college girls seemed to dig it too.

Another bonus to working Tower 9 was that Manny, the Mellow Mocha Man, set up his cart nearby. So I picked up a tall iced double latte and made it to my tower by 6:58 a.m., two minutes early.

The whole concept of iced coffee seems ironic, don’t you think? Especially at the beach! See, that’s the kind of profound observation that a thinking man will make. And, of course, us artists need our coffee jones, so props to Manny and his skills.

Of course, many lifeguards will tell you that "Baywatch" was a big career influence, and I would by lying if I didn’t agree. The first time I saw those beautiful people dedicating their lives to such a worthy cause, running in slow motion across a beach populated with hot chicks, I knew I’d found my calling.

"This is Tower 9, signing on for the morning," I said into the two-way. "Early again, but you can’t be too early in this business."

"That’s just, um, great, Bagman," came a stressed-out voice on the other end of the line. "Have a good day."

"You too, Captain Leonard!" I said.

Now Mitch, that dude who is the boss on "Baywatch" is way cool compared to Captain Leonard. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the Cap is a great guy, but I think he suffers from tension headaches that make him a little less fun than Mitch Buchanan. Seems like every time he gets done having a conversation with me back at headquarters, he rubs his temples and says, "OK, Biff, you can go now…I’m getting a headache."

Must be tough for a man gutting out continuing headaches to deal with a young lifeguard team. But he does the best he can. Plus, I think he’s finally warming to me after our rocky start.

It was last year, and I had just completed lifeguard training. Like most rookies, I worked the crappy later shift in an undesirable stretch of beach. I had to help break up a party of underage drinkers. When the dust, or sand I should say, cleared, I saw that there were still a couple of cases of brews sitting on the beach.

"Hey, Captain," I says to Captain Leonard, "I’ll split ‘em with you."

Suddenly the Cap looked like he was getting the first of the many stress headaches I’ve seen him burdened with. "You’re not serious? Are you, Bagman."

Thinking quickly, I replied: "I was being ironic, Captain."

Cap just nodded. I wasn’t sure if he was grasping a big artistic term like ‘ironic,’ but he let it go, saying: ‘There are way too many comedians on the beach. I don’t need one more.’"

Of course, I have yet to actually find these comedians he mentioned. I mean, I think it’s a cool idea having comedy clubs on the beach, but I’ve never seen any. I keep meaning to ask Cap where he schedules the comedians, but he always seems to be in a bad mood. It’s my guess that they were downsized by the buzzkills at the County.

Still, what a shame to see those beers go to waste.

The Cap reminds me of the type of kid I routinely beat up, gave wedgies to, and deposited into garbage can back during my high school days. It was stressful to be a real popular guy and captain of the football team, so I understand some of the stress my captain goes through. But I thought good looks and a great physique would be enough, until I saw Skip, the local football hero who was team captain about five years before me, pumping gas at the local BigOil station.

"Yo, Skip," I said. "What up?"

"And I should know you because?" Skip asked. What a kidder.

"You’re so funny," I replied. "Biff Bagman, team captain, quarterback. We’re going to the playoffs again! Whoo-hooo!"

"Didn’t recognize you without the uniform," he said. What a witty response. "You look good out there. Not as good as me, of course. But you’re doing a good job."

"Thanks, Skip," I said. "So, how’s, what was it, USC?"

"It was USC," Skip said, with a note of regret in his voice. "I couldn’t make the grade. Got suspended from the team for some fraternity prank. Now I’m back in fucking paradise."

By the tone of his voice, I suspected the last statement was an ironic one. I offered him a beer and we talked for a while. That’s when I learned there’s much more to life than football.

Like saving lives. In addition to finding my calling, college helped spark a renaissance in me and I became the artist I am today. The man who once gave geeks pink belly had flowered into a red rose, I like to say.

But anyway, back to the beach. It started out as a slow June morning. The sun climbed through the clouds and it grew warmer. With the good beach conditions, people started coming out and my turf filled up.

First incident was at a bit past 11 a.m. A middle-aged lady came to my tower, looking flustered.

"What can I do for you, ma’am?" I asked.

"She’s missing…I can’t believe Ashley’s missing," she said.

I stuck a heroic pose on the steps of the tower. This often reassures people. "So your daughter is missing? What does she look like?"

"No, no," she said. "Ashley, my cat."

Us lifeguards are specially trained to deal with the public in such occasions. "You brought a cat to the beach?" I asked. "Why would you bring a cat to the beach?"

"Ashley loves the beach," she said, appearing near tears.

"OK, OK, ma’am, let me call my captain," I said reassuringly. "Hey, Cap!" I called into the two-way.

"Yes, Tower 9, go ahead," came the Cap’s voice.

"Hate to bug you, but we’ve got a lost cat situation here," I said. "This is a first for me. Do you have any advice?"

"A lost cat?" he said. I could almost see his facial tick on the other end of the line. "Who the hell would bring a cat to the beach?"

"Uh, she may be able to hear you, Cap," I said. "And she didn’t answer that question when I asked her the same thing."

"Ah. I forget how loud these things are," Cap said. "These people are our customers. Help her at your discretion – but keep an eye toward the water."

"I’m on it, Cap," I said. "Thanks." See, he’s not a bad guy.

I combed the beach for a good 15 minutes or so. How to find a cat? Cats like the sun, so they could be stretched out somewhere. Or maybe the sun was too hot and Ashley headed for the shade. Plus, we tried finding her by name recognition, but when you yell "Ashley!" on a California beach, it seems that half of the girls answer by saying, "What?" The mental rigors of the job are tremendous.

Finally, I saw four college girls who all seemed to be looking at, and playing with, something. Upon a closer look, the cat matched Ashley’s description.

"Excuse me, ladies," I said, sucking in my belly and thrusting out my sculpted pecs. "I’m on an assignment involving a lost animal, and this one fits the bill."

"Is that where he came from?" one asked, tossing back her hair. "The poor thing. Isn’t he adorable?"

"Yes, quite cute," I said. Ironically, I was also referring to the girl to whom I was speaking.

"What’s the name?" she asked.

"It’s Biff," I said, "Biff Bagman, lifeguard."

"No," she said. "I was asking about the cat’s name."

"Oh," I replied. "The cat’s name is Ashley."

"Ashley, how cute," the girl said. "Nice to meet you, Biff. I’m Malibu. These are my friends, Jennifer, Amber, and Tiffany."

Malibu. What a beautiful name, I thought. Hey, that sounds like a clever line.

"Malibu," I said. "What a beautiful name."

"Well, thanks," Malibu said, blushing. "It’s kind of a pain in the ass growing up, but some people think it’s cool." She smiled a smile that reminded me of a sunset. Hey, maybe that would be a good line, too. Nah, I’d just met her, so it was too soon to bring out the poetry.

I managed to flag down the lady who lost the cat. She thanked the girls and I for our hard work. Hard work! As if!

I asked Malibu if she wanted to go for a walk. She did. So I showed her the tower and the view of the water. Not spectacular, but a little better than ground level.

Just my luck, my mom shows up with a sandwich at that time. She squeezes my cheek and says, "How’s my little Biffster?" How freakin’ embarrassing. Then she asked, "Who’s your little friend."

"Mom, this is Malibu. I just met her. Malibu, this is my mom." Malibu gave her a good handshake, a smile, and a hello. Good social skills, I thought.

"Hope I’m not interrupting anything," Mom said. "Anyway, wanted to make sure my little lifesaver doesn’t get hungry. See you at dinner!"

"Your mom is cool!" Malibu said. I’m glad she thought that because I was near blushing by now. I try not to let people know that I still live at home, at least not when I meet them. Malibu started saying how her mom is on her all the time. Apparently, she lives at home, too. So I guess it’s not that bad.

I won’t get into more specifics other than I asked Malibu if I could call her sometime and got her number. I get a few phone numbers in my job, but it’s not like I get one every day. Maybe a few times a month, but it’s part of the job of providing a quality, first-name customer service. Or that’s my excuse, anyway.

See, most people think we lifeguards are fighting off chicks. Not quite accurate. Good relationships are hard to find. Like on "Baywatch." None of them can hold a relationship for more than a few episodes. Usually they end up kissing someone else in the dark by mistake, or their love interest dies or leaves town. It’s a bummer.

And the "Baywatch" lifeguards always have personal problems, like us humans. At least once an episode, they come across some big decision. That doesn’t happen to me much. That kind of adventure was not to happen on this day, I’m sorry to say.

Around 1 p.m., I was alerted to some broken glass on the beach. Not the most glamorous part of the job, grabbing the broom and dustpan and cleaning up these messes. But at least it wasn’t doggy doo. And, hey, even the folks on "Baywatch" have to wash the cars and do other lowly tasks – but that’s usually if they’re being punished for something.

Things kinda lolligagged until around 3 p.m., when I have to break up a fight between kids. They were, like, 13 or so. Stupid little munchkins. Fight on my beach? I don’t think so. Actually, I’m good with kids, which is one more reason I enjoy the job.

Having broken up the little rumble, I came back to my tower to find Malibu and her friends waiting for me. "Just wanted to say ‘thanks’ for the little tour," Malibu said. Her friends giggled. As she walked away – a cute little strut with a cute little butt – she yelled, "Give me a call."

Hell, yeah.

Final rounds of the beach start at 3:45 for my shift. Sign-off is 4 p.m., when you turn the whistle over to some poor schmoe who has the late shift. In addition to the lack of scenery, the late-shifter has to clean the beach after it closes. Glad I picked up a day shift. Doesn’t always happen within the first year, like it did for me. But, hey, I’m the Thinking Man’s Lifeguard, remember?

At the risk of boring the readers, my final rounds didn’t uncover much action. Hope you didn’t feel cheated that there weren’t any rescues. But we are in the business of keeping the beach safe, so a day without rescues is a pretty good day.

Another great aspect of the early shift is that I jet a little after 4, which means I can catch most of the 4 p.m. showing of "Baywatch" on the USA Network. To use writer’s terms, I often miss the exposition and some of the rising action, but tend to catch the climax, the falling action, and the conclusion. Let’s see your average lifeguard tell you that!

After "Baywatch," I work out for 30 minutes or so, then shower. Dinner is at around 6:30, which means the night is fairly open. On the appointed day, I had no real social plans; just watched some TV, played some Nintendo. Figured the three-day rule meant I couldn’t call Malibu until my third day with her phone number, or Thursday. Which is cool, because that’s the perfect day to make plans for Saturday night.

I was in bed early, because, you know, I have to be to work early. The beach won’t keep itself safe.

As an epilogue, I wanted to let the readers know that Malibu and I are still seeing each other. If I do get an apartment, that would be much easier, because – what with us both living with parents – we have to do most of our intimate things in my Jeep. I wrote a haiku about it:

Me and Malibu

Nights of passion in a Jeep

Underneath the stars

As great as it is, using the Jeep is not very comfortable. And, what with it not having a top, it’s kinda like living dangerously.

A lifeguard living dangerously? Ironic, isn’t it?

Brain Candy E-Zine has no rights to this story.  The rights belong to the author.

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