Those Funny-Looking, Oddball Tourists Mean Business

Some friends of ours came to visit from the East Coast not long ago. They rented a convertible, red.

Our friends had talked about this convertible for days--who knows? Maybe months--before they stepped off the plane. In Southern California, they figured, nothing else would do.

Need I mention that this was their first trip here? My husband and I even rode in the red convertible ourselves. We went to get some frozen yogurt--what else?--and we sat in the back. I felt as if I were inhaling exhaust direct from a squeezable tube. My skin was parched, my throat dry, my hair an apparent home to many rats.

Our friends, however, thought it was really cool. They drove a lot, throwing their heads back and laughing, posing for Kodak moments on the go.

They were reveling in the tourist thing--without any apologies or guilt.

This last part, I think, is key. No excuses . Tourists say this with a certain joie de vivre . (I know, Donna Rice said it first.)

Or the slightly more timid might adopt the motto, “Who cares? I’ll never see these people again.”

So you get the picture. Tourists are a problematic lot. (Oh not us , of course, but the other kind).

In countries more primitive than our own, governments have been known to instruct the populace on how to behave toward these strangers who act as if they own not only the land, but the mineral rights as well.

“Be nice to the tourists,” they say. It could mean your job.

But, alas, here is the bottom line. If I did not love my friends dearly, I would not like them much at all. They clogged my freeways and they probably stole my restaurant reservation too. They were clearly on vacation while I was on the job.

It made me want to visit their city and have one hell of a good time. And there the vicious cycle starts again.

Not that I mean to imply that this is all bad.

The city of Anaheim, for one, is officially tickled to death at the prospect of having even more tourists roaming around. A $3-billion expansion project at the Happiest Place on Earth has been announced.

Mayor Fred Hunter, upon hearing the news, called it “Great! Great!”

“The economic benefit to the city is going to be tremendous,” he said. “It helps so many things going on.”

Other officials and business types have said the same. Wonderful news. Please bring lots of cash.

But dreaming about greenbacks can get rather dull, so the other day I went in search of something that I might use when all these newcomers begin circulating in our midst. I wanted to know what tourists are really like, how they act when they are on their own.

“Well, they tend to over-order,” said Ahmed Elzarie, one of the counter guys at Don’s Pizza Place just down the street from Disneyland.

“For four people they might get two large pizzas and them some spaghetti and salad on the side.”

“They tend to try things out,” added Mike Azzarella, the other counter guy at Don’s. “We had one guy come in the other day wanting us to put an egg on his pizza.”

This particular tourist was from Australia, and his request was denied. Don’s has standards to maintain. For example, the Hawaiian Combo (bacon, pineapple and extra cheese) is reputed to be a big seller here.

Robert Barker, who works at D & J One Hour Photo, said the tourists wear “weird shirts, with weird designs.”

Robert, for the record, was wearing a big black T-shirt trumpeting the Chicago Bulls. Robert said his dad gave it to him for Christmas. Robert might have chosen something else.

Over at the Anaheim Marriott, Tim Landry, parking supervisor, said it’s the family tourists who appreciate him the most.

“They don’t get out as much,” he said.

But then there are those who have the system down.

“They know that if they cause trouble, they get a fruit basket sent to their room,” doorman Rob Peterson said.

Patrice Romesburg, however, said that any tourist, but preferably those of the male kind, just needs to be talked up. She does this while looking up to them all. She owns 10 shoeshine stands; all of her 50 employees are “girls.”

“I tell all my girls, 75% of the people are introverts,” she said. “And 25% are extroverts, like me. But 90% of the introverts want to be extroverts. You’ve just got to bring them out. . . . My girls, in five minutes, they can know everything but the guy’s bank account. I tell them not to ask that.”

Which is a shame. Otherwise, officials in Anaheim could just consult Patrice and her girls.

Tell us, how much is all this tourist aggravation worth?