Commentary : Caught at Home in a Tourist Trap

The tourist family in the green station wagon with the fake wood trim have finally left my beachfront neighborhood. Actually, after two weeks I grew to kind of like them, even though they never got very tan and looked awkward in their Wayfarer sunglasses.

Who knows what state they were from or why they wanted to pay perversely inflated summer rates for a claustrophobic, sun-baked apartment over a garage. The point is, they weren’t locals.

A few day ago one of my more provincial neighbors leaned on a broom and smugly commented in passing that tourist season was finally over. I guess she’s right--maybe now I can find a parking spot within a block of my house. But like I said, this family that just left wasn’t really that bad.

When they first came, a dusty station wagon spilled out two hyperactive pale kids and two exhausted adults. Hot and tired after cheating death on the freeway all day, they stared at the palm trees like zombies and mechanically screeched at the kids in flat, nasal tones.

When they boomed “hello” to me across the courtyard, I debated between being too cool or giving a casual “how’s it going?” I settled for a noncommittal wave and hoped that the kids wouldn’t tear up the lawn.

When I was washing my car, one of the boys wandered up and kicked a stone around, squinting in the sun and watching me. Some local color his own age whizzed by on skateboards, giving him that flat, penetrating stare that kids use to look inside each other’s heads. The rumble of their departing boards drowned out a remark that ended in shrill preadolescent laughter.

Tourist Kid--as I mentally came to call him--turned around and headed back to the apartment, a pale, dejected little figure in crisp new OP shorts. Life’s a beach when you aren’t in your home court, I mused.

The next time I saw the family, a few days had passed and everyone was varying shades of red and light brown. They were going to Balboa for a glitzy, sunny day in a genuine beach town. I don’t claim to read minds, but I could imagine the thoughts that would run through their heads after a few hours.

Dad would realize that with what he had spent on hot dogs, frozen bananas, T-shirts and quaint souvenirs, he could have bought the kids a VCR and stayed home in Pleasantville, U.S.A. As the bodies in the bikinis passed by, Mom would sigh and wonder if she should have raised cocker spaniels instead of children. And the kids? Too busy being nauseated from too much sun, adrenaline and fast food.

But at day’s end, footsore and considerably lighter in the wallet, they tromped past my window with dazed smiles on their faces. After all, it was their vacation. And they got some great photos during the harbor tour.

During all of this, I was busy working on my tan. Some Californians last summer were busy throwing bottles and rocks at Newport police, while others in Huntington Beach were busy setting cars on fire. As darkness fell in my neighborhood, more often than not I listened not to the sound of the surf, but to stereos and party noise. And the inflated summer rates that prevailed for everything from food to services got a bit old, too.

Cool nights and misty mornings have brought some badly needed calm to my area, and also the packing up of the green station wagon. The kids had calmed down some and I even waved hello to them. The parents seemed more rested, too. They engaged in pleasant, impersonal greetings with me and didn’t screech at the kids as much.

The day they left, I watched from my doorway and silently wished them a safe trip. The old wagon, loaded with junky knickknacks made of shells, silk screened T-shirts and miscellaneous California memorabilia, rolled away from the curb. My smug neighbor noted their departure with a malicious sort of glee and nodded at me, as if waiting for me to make an approving remark.

Their visit didn’t pad my wallet as it did some people’s, but it didn’t ruin my life either. They never broke a window, screamed an obscenity or got arrested. Come to think of it, I guess their greatest faults were taking up a parking spot on my block and not having tans.