Sure, these aren’t for everyone. Some folks like to charge out of high school and hit the ground running—apprenticeships, university degrees, the building blocks of a life, a career, a purpose. Others, like me, prefer to waffle around a bit, check things out, see what happens. This surfing thing’s pretty fun, maybe I’ll just work around that. This is where a lifestyle job comes in, and although they might not look like much from the outside, if you take the plunge you’ll find that more often than not they come with their own unique set of benefits.
The key to a good lifestyle job is all about maximising surfing time while minimising responsibility. Preferably something at night, where your only real requirement is to turn up and do whatever menial task you’re getting paid minimum wage to complete. Furthermore, it shouldn’t matter if you’re hung-over, drunk, stoned or just look that way because you’ve spent the last eight hours surfing your arse off—your sole responsibility should be getting that shit done. And sometimes, aside from the obvious reward of never missing a good session, these lowly forms of employment can put you in touch with some pretty interesting people and experiences.
My most memorable lifestyle job (and believe me, I’ve had a few) came when I found myself working at a rather large, rather popular club somewhere near the NSW/QLD border. At the time, I was living across the road from a playful point break just down the coast, and every day, after putting in two to three shoulder-aching sessions against the current out there, I’d put on my chequered pants and gumboots and report for duty in the hidden recesses of the club’s kitchen. For the next six to seven hours I’d spray dishes with a hot, powerful gurney and swap stories with the other assorted freaks of society who’d congregated there for the purpose of survival. And it was beautiful. There were always interesting conversations going down—discussions on psychedelics, conspiracy theories, the virtues of David Gilmore’s guitar playing, Beat Generation literature and any number of other strange and obscure topics. There were no customers to deal with. It was easy to hide from managers. The only real worry you had was to stay out of the way of the notoriously ill-tempered chefs. But after a while you learned even they weren’t all that bad, and if you were smart, you managed to get yourself on some of their good sides, which brought the even greater benefit of delicious food whenever you wanted it. Looking back, it was a wonderful place to waste time on this earth while still managing to keep a roof over your head. And the best part was, when you hung up your sauce-smeared, grease-stained apron at the end of each shift, the only thought you had on your mind was what the waves would be doing in the morning.
Like all good things, though, it didn’t last. Somewhere along the line I got the bright idea to go to uni, do a degree, and get a real job like, uh, writing about surfing. But I still remember that carefree period when I chased waves all day and washed dishes by night fondly. And for anyone who can’t decide whether to go into corporate law or biomedical engineering, I’d say maybe consider the third option of scrubbing a few pots and going surfing.
There’s always time for the important stuff later.
