2:00 pm at the Esteem headquarters. The ocean in the distance is a mess with the prevailing NW winds and short period slop. In the dead time between Christmas and Spring Break, Pismo is a ghost town during the week. I am greeted at the register by the listless countenance of a man who has worked too many hours of retail – a body sagged by years of nine-to-five behind a counter, and a face that yearns for a simple tall can of some cheap domestic and a double horseshoe dip of Copenhagen.
Methodically folding shirts and routinely reciting greetings to the few withdrawn customers that may pass, some might mistake the faint glimmer in Randall’s eyes for the reflection from the dim lit sticker cabinet that he cantilevers himself over for 8 hours at a time on these kind of mellow days. Not me though. I see a spark, and I know something must be up on this particular afternoon.
“It’s that time of year,” he cracks from his post. I nod gingerly in agreement, although I have no clue as to what he’s thinking with that lukewarm smirk on his face. “Yup we’re gonna have to take over Park Street again,” he follows. All confusion is wiped from my face with one simple statement right then and there. The 3rd annual Hurricane Classic is born and winter has officially ended here in downtown Pismo.