Jefe's House

 Mind you, I’m saying this as a New York City resident of twenty years.  Forget what you’ve heard about pushy New Yorkers.  The aggressive shopkeepers along 14^th Street in Manhattan don’t hold a candle to the sleazy merchants we encountered all up and down Ocean  Boulevard.    If you like being constantly surveilled by teams of three or four staff who will follow you around their stores and stare you down while you take an item to the dressing room then Myrtle Beach is the place for you.  It’s like shopping in a maximum security prison.   If you do decide to make a purchase they follow you to the front to guard the door as though they’re ready to tackle you if you try to make a break without paying.  Has shoplifting really become so rampant in South Carolina that these measures are required?  I’m talking about stores like Pacific Beachwear on 21st Avenue and King’s Highway, and Beach Bums and Bargain Beachwear on Ocean Boulevard.  Be prepared for a vacation buzzkiller.  

My relatives reported the same kinds of episodes during their own excursions up and down the shops on Ocean Boulevard, not only in the form of excessive surveillance but also shifting prices at the cash register and hyper-aggressive clerks literally chasing them down the street after they exited without making a purchase.   It was the most hostile shopping experience we’d ever had.  I don’t know where these people are from but perhaps they can adapt to the culture a little better, maybe learn a little laid back Southern hospitality, especially at Myrtle Beach, one of the mellowest, albiet tackiest, places on Earth. 

Then there were the parasailing companies.  As soon as we got to Myrtle Beach and saw all the parasailers floating through the skies up and down the coast we were hooked.  Most of these companies are located several miles away in Murrell’s Inlet but we were happy at first to find two right there on the beach. The first one we tried, Ocean Watersports, is located in a beachside hut behind the Family Kingdom Water Park.  We called beforehand and first they lied to us on the phone.  My girlfriend and I are pretty adventurous and independent so we didn’t want to go up as a pair, we each wanted a solo
flight.  I asked, “Can we each do a solo flight?” 

“Yes.”  

I asked if reservations were required and they stressed that it would be very good idea, and that on that particular day we’d better come by 10am because after that they were booked solid.   We hastily shifted around our morning plans with family to hustle down there by 10am only to find that the place was practically empty. As far as we could tell we were the only customers.  We approached the fast-talking young woman in the hut.  “Hi, we’d like to go parasailing.” 

She shoved a release form and a pencil at us.  “Great, that’s $95 for two people.”  

“Excellent. We’d like to each go solo.” 

“You can go up solo in separate pairs,” she said quickly, still pushing the pencil and release at me.  “That’ll be $95, sign here.” 

 Huh? Come again?  Solo in separate pairs?  I turned to my girlfriend. “Did you understand that?” 

“We don’t do solo flights,” the clerk explained.  “You can go up separately but you’ll each be put with another person.” 

“I just called you this morning and you told me you do solo flights.” 

“We do, in separate pairs.” 

“Then it’s not a solo flight.”  

“Oh, you don’t want to go up by yourself anyway. It’s boring.” 

Parasailing is boring?  Should I have brought along a TV Guide to thumb through while I zoomed through the sky two hundred feet above open ocean?  This was her way to get us to go for their double-talk?   We just looked at her in disbelief. 

“It’s really boring,” she went on.  “You’ll want someone to talk to while you’re up there.” 

Her coworker stepped forward authoritatively to offer us a different explanation.  “See, it’s up to the captain once you get out on the boat whether you can do a solo flight. If it’s too windy then you have to go up in pairs.” 

“Is it too windy today?” 

“It’s up to the captain.” 

“Why didn’t you tell us this on the phone when I asked if you do solo flights? Do you ever do solo flights?” 

 “Not today.  It’s really fun in pairs, you’ll love it. Wanna go up?” 

We walked away.  Back in our room we looked through the Yellow Pages and found another nearby place, Downwind Sails located on 20th Avenue South next door to Damon’s Restaurant.  We gave them a call and asked if they allowed solo flights. They gave us a straight answer:  if you weigh less than 170 lbs. you cannot go up solo.  At least that made sense to us.  I’m easily 210 and fortunately for me, my girlfriend doesn’t weigh anywhere near 170 so we gave up on the solo flight idea and agreed we’d go up as a pair. We asked if they required a reservation and they stressed that that would be a very good idea so we booked a 4:00pm reservation for that same day.  They took my last name as a confirmation and said they’d see us at four.  We were thrilled. That afternoon we borrowed my aunt’s car and drove down, arriving 15 minutes early to pay and take care of the release forms.  

“Hi, we’d  like to go parasailing.” 

“We’re all done for today,” said the saleswoman.  “Would you like to make a reservation for tomorrow?” 

“No, you don’t understand, we made a reservation, you took our name.” 

 She hesitated. “Oh, um, well…it’s too windy so we knocked off early.”   Or was it that they were having an incredibly slow day like the other place?  We suspect so because at least three parasailers
were in the air flying past right on cue as she said this to us.  Oops!  

We looked at the parasailers, then back at her. “So you mean our reservation was worthless and you lied to us on the phone?” 

 ”You can make a reservation for tomorrow if you like.” 

Okay, but first define reservation because clearly you don’t know the meaning of the word.  Why would we make another one when you have no intention of keeping it?   As your beloved ex-President and South Carolina favorite once said, “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on—um—won’tgetfooledagain.”  We didn’t want to getfooledagain so we said nothing and headed back to the car. 

Unbelievable.  Screwed twice in one day by the Myrtle Beach parasailing hustlers.   For what it’s worth we filed complaints against both companies with the Better Business Bureau for unethical sales practices and wretched customer service.  Doubtless, the companies are unfazed because they know what we all know: there’s a sucker born every minute.  Make sure you’re not one of them. 

Not wanting to waste another precious day of our brief vacation chasing a parasailing pipe dream we gave up and sought our thrills closer to the ground at the Family Kingdom Amusement Park.  We were eager to ride the historic wooden roller coaster so we got up the next morning and walked there to start the day with a bang.  They were closed.  We found a security guard who told us, “We open at 4pm.”   Terrific. We’re at a major tourist destination in the height of summer and the amusement park doesn’t open until the end of the day. 

So, we hung out on the narrow, overdeveloped beach instead and had a blast jumping waves and collecting shells with the family, then went back that night and rode first the go-carts, a brief, slow, disappointing ride but even so a little girl got injured and was crying.  The supervisor pointed out some office across the park and told her mother they’d need to go there if they wanted to complain. 

Undaunted, we rode the roller coaster.  Just before our turn to get on we saw a mother and daughter get off the coaster and eagerly flag down the supervisor.  We couldn’t hear over the noise but we got the mother’s basic point.  Her kid had almost been tossed from the coaster and she was complaining about the worthless seatbelts.   The supervisor listened, sent her away, then turned to the other workers to remind them, “Be sure to strap ‘em in.”   

Against our better judgment we got on next and made it through the ride fine but the loose seatbelts were indeed a joke.  We flew up off of our seats a couple of times, it’s a wonder we didn’t get hernias.  They probably have a fine safety record but we do not recommend that you ride this rickety coaster, and  we say this as repeat riders of the ancient wooden Coney Island Cyclone. 

The next day we walked to the Family Kingdom Arcade across the street from the amusement park. We had a good time but the ski-ball machines kept eating our quarters.  Still, we racked up quite a few tickets and decided to go back the next afternoon to cash them in and get a prize.  We arrived a little after 6pm to find the place closed. Closed in the evenings in August when the town is full of tourists?  Nothing to do about it so we walked across the street to the Mini Market to check our email before walking back to our motel. We had seen the neon sign over their door which read INTERNET. 

“Hi, we’d like to use the Internet.” 

“Oh, we don’t have Internet.” 

“But the sign says Internet.” 

“We had nine computers in here last year but we took them out.” 

We didn’t bother asking the obvious question, then why don’t you take down the neon sign? 

Again let down by a Myrtle Beach merchant, we headed for home. The next day, having been disappointed by parasailing and the Family Kingdom but still jonesing for adventure, we decided to check out the much-advertised NASCAR Speedpark.  We stopped into an information booth on Ocean Boulevard and asked if they had a brochure for it.  The guy was very kind, handed us the brochure, then urged us inside, ostensibly to give us a map.  We soon learned that his real agenda wasn’t hospitality or driving directions but to tell us he could get us into the NASCAR Speedpark for free if we listened to his 90-minute presentation on buying a timeshare condo.  We declined the hustle but he quickly jotted his name and number down on the map and insisted we take it in case we changed our minds.  We hurried out and tossed the map in the first available trash can.The NASCAR Speedpark was another bust.  They have several tracks for varying ages but their big selling points are the high speed, high banked tracks for licensed drivers over the age of 16. We went inside to the cashier and learned that the two adults-only tracks were, you guessed it, closed.  The Myrtle Beach curse had struck again.   We asked the cashier about one of the other tracks which seemed like it might be for grownups.  “What’s it like?” 

 “Sixteen,” she said with a deadpan lisp, twirling her hair and staring off into the space somewhere beside my head. 

 “Sixteen?  Sixteen what?  Minimum age? Miles per hour?” 

 “…Yeah…” 

“Can you tell us anything about the other rides? What ages are they for?” 

“You can go outside and look at them if you want.” 

We went outside and  looked around at all the tightly controlled, geriatric go-carts creeping round and round their tracks and got the hell outta there.  NASCAR Speedpark would be a great place to take your small kids or your grandparents but otherwise skip it.  Don’t be fooled by their high-octane advertising.  Remember the rule: if anyone in Myrtle Beach is trying to sell you something it’s probably a bait and switch. 

My niece got married at a cute wedding chapel not far from the beach.  When my girlfriend and I arrived that morning and were hanging around the lobby waiting for the ceremony to begin the owner, a short, sweaty, bald white man with a Hitler mustache made a beeline for my girlfriend who is Indian-American.  “Come with me!” he said to her eagerly with a smile.  “Come right in here, it’ll just take a second!”  

She shrugged and followed him a few steps through an open door into the office where two staff members were working at their desks.  “Look!” he said to them proudly, gesturing to my girlfriend. “This is what my Hawaiian daughter looks like!  Isn’t she beautiful?”  His two employees smiled at her awkwardly and quickly got back to work, embarrassed on his behalf.  Oblivious, he turned to my girlfriend. “They’ve never seen a Hawaiian before, they don’t know what one looks like!”  She glared at him, turned and walked out, dying to say more but for my niece’s sake let it go. 

Concluding advice:  if you go on vacation to Myrtle Beach book yourself a cheap motel room and don’t go out at all.  Bring your own food, and don’t spend any money anywhere on anything.  Maybe just walk out from your motel to the extremely narrow, overdeveloped beach, put on a pair of dark sunglasses, sit under an umbrella and do not move.