A pre-amble and post script combined into one… I wrote this article about The Hans last year and never posted it. I just felt it might be too negative and it's sofaking long! Then this last week I had a group of guests come in and one of them innocently asked “do you ever get really bad guests?”. I went into a condensed version of the 9,455 words written below and during that description the guests eyes widened and he asked, “did he have a bowl cut?”.

“Yes, he did have a bowl cut.” I replied.

“Was this about July?” he continued.

“Yes it was in July.” I confirmed.

“Did he have a cute French girl with him?”… the guests voice crescendos.

“OMG, yes…did you meet The Hans?”

As it turns out, yes. My guest had been at another surf camp in the North of Nicaragua, where The Hans had made his mark…and where The Hans had gotten kicked out of too. This was right before I got a call from The Hans, requesting a return visit, the details of which you will read below. As if the story couldn’t get any more unbelievable, another guest, listening to our parlay, chimed in and asked about The Hans…My other quest inquiring if The Hans lived in Washington and if he was a fisherman. I said no, he was from Oregon and didn’t fish that I know of. My guest asked what The Hans’ last name was, which I told him, and then he called his friend, the owner of a fishing boat in Washington. In some sick six degrees of separation moment, his friend confirmed that in fact The Hans had taken a job on this guy’s fishing boat and had promptly gotten kicked off during the first trip at sea. The Hans had struck again, from Nicaragua to Washington this kid had left his mark…and here we were, three strangers, brought together from an experience from none other than… The Hans.

The Hans- week one

Until I actually met him I thought The Hans was your average tourist. His reservation was made through a serious of innocuous WhatsApp messages that my wife handled like so many others. I didn’t read any anomalies in the back and forth between them that might clue me into anything peculiar about this guest. Because of his name, I assumed he was German or Austrian or Swiss. In fact he might be, but at that point The Hans was living in Oregon. At some point in his life, according to him, he had lived in Hawaii, where he learned the “traditional ways”, which was a reference to an honor system based on Aloha, surfing, surfing etiquette and surfing culture. What I came to learn was that Hans had a lot to learn still and was probably not going to be able to with the amount of substances filling what was left of a dwindling supply of braincells. I’m pretty sure a lot of what The Hans said was a lie, but if you believe it, it’s true in your own mind. In the end however, it was obvious The Hans’ mind is broken and not even his mother could repair it.

The day of his arrival my wife was doing the airport run…1.5 hours to the airport, find the guest/s, grab the guest/s and then 1.5 hours back if all goes as planned. At a point during her return I got a garbled voice message from her, akin to a “mayday” radio call from a Max 8 pilot with a jammed up jackscrew. It was in Spanish of course, but distilled down, it was something resembling “the guest was drunk and stupid” and when they arrived there was no arguing she was right. The Hans walked in with a barreling spittle riddled announcement, to no obvious audience, his voice booming like he was using a bong as a megaphone…”this place is sick and I’m not even saying that ‘cause I’m fucked up!”. It was clear he wanted anyone to hear he had arrived, that he was fucked up, and let’s party! His announcement mostly went unnoticed and/or ignored…guests scattered, hammocks swung, heads went down and scrolling commenced.

According to The Hans he had a long trip including an 18 hour layover at LAX, where he met the love of his life. She was an Australian lass, also on a long layover, the most beautiful girl in the world and they were in love. With both their flights pending, they drank together and smoked “dank” at the closest dispensary LAX had to offer. There under the glow of the Northern Lights or Sea-Monkey sewage, they sewed the seed of this endless love. She’s coming to visit, so she says, or he’s moving to Australia, they haven’t worked it out yet.

Most guest check-ins are …normal. Occasionally with large groups of suffers it can resemble “cat herding”. When you come into the lodge there are wave breaking out front, there’s surfboards everywhere, there’s a pool table and ping pong, there’s dogs and other guests…and did I mention there’s waves breaking out front? Getting surfers to focus on getting out their passports and cash so they can start their tab and pick up their key and AC remote is like getting pre-schoolers to form a single file line to visit Mickey Mouse… The Hans, was a one man cat-herd. I’m pretty sure he got kicked out of pre-school. Mickey Mouse probably flipped him off with one of his four fingers. It was pretty obvious from the start that The Hans suffers from ADHD, though his sickness so acute it became a contagion to those around him. I don’t think I had it until I met him. According to google, which makes it true, narcissism is one of those symptoms that comes packaged with acute ADHD, though there was nothing cute about his particular brand of self obsession. It was impossible to have a conversation with The Hans. Nothing so defeating as someone interruption you, to ask you an inane, but very important question only to interrupt your reply with a tourettes’esque outburst of insanely stupid commentary regarding a completely different subject. When that didn’t happen, he would just wander off…a blessing in disguise. The questions don’t stop… like machine gun fire…I can’t find cover fast enough.

To understand and really “hear” The Hans, you have to close your eyes and imagine a voice like Jeff Spiccoli, though with a lot of spittle, so much so it often accumulates into flat out drooling. We all had that friend in grade school… “say it, don’t spray it!”. How did he have so much saliva though? Did I mention The Hans smoked pot? You would think he’d have chronic cotton mouth and not the contrary.

The back ground on The Hans is he’s 23 years old, a self proclaimed “old soul” and thank you for pointing that out. He has a tree cutting service that he owns (by himself) and he “makes bank”. He’s quick to add that he grows pot too…and he “makes bank” off that too. His tree cutting service is unlicensed and uninsured because he doesn’t want to “waste all that money paying licenses and insurance and taxes for nothing.” I’m pretty sure his pot growing business is unlicensed too. The Hans likes to smoke pot, or dank, or wax, or vape, or blunts and bongs, but his favorite is just a fat joint. He’s very clear to point this out, at a very high volume, for all to hear. My guests this week you ask? To my delight they include a variety of guests including my mother, sister and my sister’s lifelong friend Shelly, who all just happen to be visiting this week, of all weeks. At that point, I’m really wishing The Hans was a polite German tourist with a cute accent, “vee make surfing time ya?”. Instead I’ve gotten what Nicaraguans call a “Baboso”. “Baba” is drool in Spanish… and “Baboso” is the perfect word to describe The Hans.

Just to note, nobody really cares if you smoke pot here…except the police. As owners and operators we’re not “square”, but Nicaragua is not that forward thinking “eurocracy” that has open prisons or decriminalized drugs so they can be consumed freely without consequence. Nicaragua in fact has strict laws that make pot a serious crime to possess or consume. People do it, prohibitions never work, but in doing our “due diligence” as owners we post a list of hotel policies, among which is that use of illegal drugs is not allowed. It’s a rubber stamp policy that we don’t enforce, mostly because we don’t have to, at least until The Hans showed up. Within his first hour on premise, drunk but not inebriated enough, he approached me in the kitchen, announcing that he needed a light for “this fat joint!”. I tried to look as uncomfortable as possible, which wasn’t a stretch. I tried a “cool uncle” approach and started speaking softly to him in hopes he would key in on the need for low volume, “hey man”, I whispered, “do me a favor, we’ve got some families and ‘uncool’ non-pot-smokers, you know, the squares, so just keep it on the downlow, you know;-)”. He nodded, we winked, he acted like he understood, his volume even dropped a notch, but he had already forgotten why he came to the kitchen. The joint displayed in his pinched fingers like he was about to take a toke reminded him. His volume went back up, he asked for a light again. I gave him some matches and asked him to go to the beach and not smoke in the house.

As luck would have it ,I had a group of 3 guys, a little older, all surfer friends staying in the lodge that week. They were teachers, travelers from California, that were hip to smoking weed, they understood how to do it discreetly and they were experts at dealing with unruly teenagers. They had grown up in the era when pot was illegal and you were forced to hide it. Their skills were honed over adolescent and college years of sneaking around parents, teachers and police. “yeah mom, we’re going to 7-eleven for snacks…”. A couple pipe tokes on the way, some visine and some snacks, maybe a binaca blast, then back home to watch MTv with nobody the wiser. Discretion at its best. These three surfers worked as my ally’s in managing The Hans and his transgressions, which were frequent and plentiful.

The next morning after The Hans’ arrival, my mother approached me, with that “disapproving mom look” on her face; lips pursed, wrinkled brow, lasers. I’m 50 years old, I’d like to think too old to get in trouble, but I feel like I’m in trouble. I know the look, though I haven’t seen it in decades and I can’t fathom what I’ve done at this age to garner it. She hands me a frisbee, upside down like a tray, and in it is a scattering of stems and seeds, a roach, some spent matches and a package of “Big Bambu” rolling papers. “you might want to hide this before your guests or kids see it.” She says it very politely, though the acidity in her words is clear and caustic. I take the frisbee and go to find The Hans.

“That’s not mine…,” he says. I half expect him to follow it up with “I’m just holding it for a friend”. The Hans vehemently denies any knowledge or participation in the activities that led to the pot being left out on the deck railing, in my kids frisbee no less. His lying to my face makes me angry, It’s unnecessary. I just try to “cool uncle” him into some sort of sympathy for the fact I’m just trying to run a respectable business, and not get in trouble from my mom. That’s when I recruit the other surfers…I figure they’re probably smoking with The Hans, and they’re more experienced with his generation, that they might deliver more clout to keep him focused on discretionary practices. They go above and beyond.

The week went this way…tangible cringes, scattering guests at his arrival, never a library voice. The Hans created a discomfort with a thick scent that was rancid at best. I had made up in my mind that we would just get through the week as smoothly as possible, dismiss The Hans and the world would return to normal. Stories would be told, lessons learned and it would become one of many conversation pieces Sirena Surf Lodge has brought me over the years. I thought that if I kept The Hans surfing, he would be less likely to offend anyone…though he was adept at causing problems in the water as well, but more on that later. I tried to filter my family’s exposure to The Hans and keep my kids away from his constant blather frequently punctuated by the word “fuck”… savant-ly iterated about 4 times per mal-formed sentence…if you could call them sentences. I often cringe at my own sailor’s mouth, my filter often broken, clogged, or non-existent. I’d like to think I’m at least eloquent and inject vulgarities as emphasis and punctuation, not just mindless filler for a lack of vocabulary. The Hans on the other hand, is lacking a vocabulary. He’s an “unfinished” product of home schooling that was mostly done online, except he proudly announces how he paid other people to do his school work, because he just wasn’t into it and had money. He tries to justify his evasion of education by noting his success as a business man. I’m not sure if this is in reference to his unlicensed tree cutting business…or is it his pot growing business? He’s got money now so education doesn’t matter. I just want to turn him off. I wish his mother would have swallowed.

As part of our surf trip packages we include a touristy, sight-seeing trip to Leon. Of course with my Mother and sister visiting this is my main entertainment for them, other than spending time with the kids. So incorporating my family’s desires with my obligations to the other guests I coordinate a trip to Leon for some sightseeing… with the express desire to exclude The Hans from it. I was hoping being in a mini-van with a bunch of squares would scare him away. I was happy to provide him with his own private tour, in a taxi, at my expense, but isolated from the rest of the group and especially my family. I failed. At some point in the planning word of the trip got out and The Hans, now aware, invited himself along. I was unable to come up with a tactful way to abandon him and so reluctantly, I loaded him into the mini-van, along with 10 other guests, my family among them, to go 45 minutes to Leon. It’s only 45 minutes, how bad can it be you ask? It was bad.

The ride there was fairly uneventful, I think we tuned out The Hans as best we could, and quickly found a parking spot to offload the guests. I gave a quick orientation and timing… some of the things they might want to see and do. I really wanted to make sure they didn’t get lost and could find their way back to the van at the appropriate time, I needed and wanted to concentrate on spending time with my family, who I see twice a year when there’s not a political crisis or global pandemic. We exchanged phone numbers and then shotgun scattered out into the central park of Leon. I hadn’t gone more than 50 yards, veering away with my mom and sister when I hear some commotion. I turn to see Hans jumping on a trampoline.

The central park of Leon is the idyllic town square, almost every well planned town in the world has one. The Cathedral anchors one flank, the Presidential palace, now a museum, just opposite. Government building on one side and a school on the other, a fountain, a pavilion, vendors, pigeons, people, culture and even a little park for the kids including some rides and trampolines for hire. Hans is not a kid, though his maturity is akin to one. The commotion I heard was the owner of the trampoline spitting vitriol at The Hans for commandeering the trampoline without permission, without paying, and worse, with his shoes on. You never, ever, get on the “brinca-brinca” with shoes on! The Hans is ushered off the trampoline, I half want the police nearby to take some interest. I explain to The Hans in my best “stern Uncle” impression that “we’re in a foreign country and it’s important that we do not project the image of the ‘ugly American’ who thinks that they can do whatever they want with impunity”. The Hans doesn’t know what impunity means, he must have paid someone to take that vocabulary test.

Again, we all go our separate ways, my mom gives me “the look”. Lasers. I’m hoping somehow, The Hans doesn’t make it make to the meeting point on time or at all. It’s odd to me, to have such rancor for a guest, but this is a special case. I’ve not had a guest so abrasive, in every way. I watch my other guests evade him and disengage him and I’m feeling guilty for my ineptness, for not removing him, I need to pull the turd out of the soup and hope he hasn’t left a lingering essence… I’m the owner, the guide, the manager, it’s my job to police, but this a new issue for me, one that in 10 years of running surf camps I’ve only had glancing blows of confrontation, compared to this head on collision with ignorance.

The Hans does in fact make it back to the meeting point and we begin our return trip, The Hans’ lips loosened by a few drinks. I don’t remember specifically how the conversation came around to it, but somehow there was a thread that arose regarding The Hans’ feminine conquests, of which, according to The Hans, there are many. He was explaining how he had lost interest in his Australian princess (we can only surmise she ghosted him…eh, her loss) and how he was smitten with Natalie, the yoga teacher, though she had recently rejected him as well…blah blah…that tramp…blah blah…you know how bitches are? As though a fuse was burning, there was an awkward pause…a viscous sizzling silence in the vehicle. I wished I could have melted into a stain on the seat, maybe just dissolved into some crumbs to disappear under the carpet. Then the fuse was gone. Shelly, my sister’s lifelong friend, a high school teacher, a strong personality in her own, and one of Natalie’s yoga students, breaks the silence. “Did you just call Natalie a Tramp?” Shelly asks.

“Well Yeah, you know how those ramp tramps are….” The Hans stutters a stupid reply, shovel in hand.

“Shut the fuck up Hans”, Shelly drops the microphone. Shelly is a 55’ish tenured public school teacher, as adept as anyone could be at dealing with adolescents behaving badly. I’m not sure if this is her technique with students, but she handles the situation succinctly. My mom and sister quickly add in some reinforcing stern warnings to The Hans about continuing the dialogue. The Hans mumbles something similar to Forrest Gump saying “well that’s all I have to say about that”…. I think Bubba and Forrest could lend The Hans a few brain cells and he would still wind up under average. We engage in other chit chat for the remainder of the ride…

Though I don’t think it was a distinct lack of intelligence that afflicted The Hans, it was more an average or slightly above average intellect desiring to be below average… just smart enough to set the bar low so he could use it as an excuse for being so obtuse. He learned this from someone though. There was a point when I started to see how The Hans is mostly a product of bad parenting being it enabling or entitling or both. I don’t think you have to be forensic psychologist to glean this out. The Hans a gold medal in failure and it’s hanging proudly on his parent’s fridge. It’s clear that The Hans’ ADHD is a major barrier to his advancement as a functional human being, but it’s not solely to blame. Equally at fault are his home schooling, isolation from good social cues, and access to good and bad role models. The Hans at one point announced he’s never been vaccinated and never will be. I can hardly believe it’s true, hopefully it’s just another one of his lies, though it drives a nail home on the house of cards where (bad) parenting is to blame for his idiocy. I can’t wait for the week to be over.

…And with the week in fact over, it’s finally time to ship out The Hans to other parts of Nicaragua. Goodbye, good riddance, I don’t ask him where he’s going, I don’t care and I make a conscious decision not to invite him to come back. I know I will be making apologies for him for years to come. The moment the door is closed behind him, I pretty much forget about him and lick my wounds, I didn’t think of him again. I begin to make my apologies as best I can. If he every inquires again, we’re fully booked forever.

The Hans- Week Two

Fast forward a month, I receive a garbled voice message from my wife, akin to a “mayday” radio call from a pilot facing an impending crash. Something to effect of “(The)Hans called and says he wants to come back…I told him he needs to talk to you…”

“Why woman? Why would you dumpegate this on me?” I’m upbraiding my wife. She had a chance to say no, clean break up…no clothes left behind or key under the mat to return. Or worse, the favorite CD that was left in the carousel, a hail mary excuse for an awkward post break up visit. I never liked Alanis Morrisette anyway. I’m reading the text message from my wife that Hans wants to come back, he has a girlfriend he’s traveling with and wants to book the two of them into the lodge for a week all inclusive. I’m thinking of how to say no and my phone rings. It’s The Hans. I feel cornered.

My family now long gone, I’m sitting with old friends and new guests and could take a call without being considered rude but I excuse myself to get up…I need to pace. I know I said that The Hans sounds like Jeff Spicolli, but now I feel like he’s channeling that silly surfer kid that did the news interview about surfing and included sound effects to the imaginary maneuvers he was doing in the ocean…sprak, braaaaal, shwack, whoooopisch…soooo barrelld!…etc…. There’s a nasal quality that comes from too many bong hits. His mouth a festering wound oozing a diarrhea of words mostly incomprehensible and mostly stinking of something shitty.

“Hey quadfather, it’s (The) Hans…” Quadfather is a nickname the other guests have given me that The Hans has picked up on, I don’t feel he’s privileged enough to use this endearment. He continues, “Now I know we got off on a bad foot the last time I was here, but I want to come back and I swear to god I won’t be any problem…blah blah…I love it there…blah blah… your wife said I had to get permission…blah blah… and I just want you to know I won’t cause any problems…I don’t even smoke pot any more…” Lies, diarrhea, putrid blather.

I didn’t hang up the phone , I should have. His diatribe went on for a few moments of my life I’ll never recover, the whole time I’m thinking “I don’t want to do this, this is a bad idea, move on, hang up”… I have to admit that part of me is thinking if I don’t take him, he’ll just go to one of my competitors and then I’ll have to deal with him in the surf, but I won’t be getting paid. I’m swayed, I’m greedy and I lie to myself that his girlfriend will be a damper on the extreme behavior. I decide to give him an ultimatum: “ (The) Hans, I think this is a bad idea, but I’ll do it on one condition and that is you pay up front for the both of you and if there’s any problems with pot smoking, or loud music, vulgar language, over intoxication, or annoying other guests, I’m going to kick you out with no refund, no exceptions.” The Hans accepts. Fuck, now I’m locked in.

“So You’re Telling me there’s a chance?!”- Loyd Christmas/Dumb and Dumber

I have to admit I had some misplaced hope that The Hans might actually be able to do it, after all Loyd Christmas won over Mary Swanson at 10 million to one odds. I told myself that so I didn’t feel like I was just flat out stealing $1600 from The Hans. I gave him deposit instructions for that amount and said I would confirm receipt. About an hour later I received a transfer of $2,000 from his mother? Already not following instructions, when he arrives he informs me that he wants to stay 10 days, not a week, so he had his mom send extra money, because he can’t get any out. I’m wondering if I’m dumb or dumber.

He’s not wasted when he arrives, it’s a start. His girlfriend is lovely, French, built, and polite…which makes us all wonder what the fuck is she doing with The Hans. She’s slightly timid with conversation, it’s a little bit of a language thing, but her English isn’t bad. She’s gorgeous… it becomes a frequent subject of conversation, her looks and what the fuck is she doing with him?

Check in was smooth, I asked The Hans to use his “inside voice” because the lodge is full of people who are reading, napping and chillaxing, they don’t need a play by play broadcast of the stupid shit going through The Hans’ head. It only took 27 minutes before The Hans made his first contract terminable error. Like a nightmarish déjà vu, I was in the kitchen and The Hans comes up to me asking for a light so he can smoke this joint?! He broadcasts his request at level 11, like people will think he’s cool, for smoking joints. I’m not pleased, I shouldn’t be surprised. I explain that to him in my best “angry uncle” , “you haven’t made it a half-a-fucking- hour (The) Hans! and already something I should kick you out for?! Are you fucking serious? Why should I not kick you out right now and keep your money? We agreed that the pot thing was something we were not going to hear about , or know about or see, there’s no way you’re going to last the week…?” He looks shattered.

The Hans has beautiful Crystalline colored eyes, like ancient glacial ice with rusty red streaks through the iris…and his gaze is deeply beautiful but vacant. Stunningly beautiful eyes, set into the most stupid looking face you can imagine…mouth breathing, drooling and most of the time uttering something stupid. He’s got a bowl cut that makes him look like the beautiful blue eyed love child of Loyd Christmas and Mary Swanson, even down to the vibrant red hair. I’m sure some might say he’s handsome, I just can’t see past his stupid fucking face looking back at me as though I just told him some shocking news, to properly appreciate his beautiful eyes. “Get your joint and get out of here, this is your one and only chance! I will kick you out and keep your money, that was our agreement.”

He backs away, proverbial tail between his legs, almost as though he has heard understood and acknowledged my instructions. It’s odd; I just chastised a guests that has just given me $2 grand? How does this work? At that moment I don’t know where he went, probably to find a light. Later I found out where he went, when the local pot dealer knocks on our door looking for The Hans…great, nothing like drug dealers knocking on your door. Apparently The Hans had pissed off some of the local surfers with his traditional Hawaiian aloha spirit and to try and smooth things over he offered to roll a joint for them to share. At least he’s not smoking on myproperty. I tell the pot dealer never to come to my house again and that if he wants to do his business he can do it elsewhere, but never, ever, at my place of business. He understands. I go to find The Hans to tell him the good news that now pot dealers are knocking on my door because of his invite. Strike two. Strike ten…I don’t even fucking know. I’m definitely the dumber one.

The next morning we’re up early for surf. On the railing of the upper deck I found a frisbee, in it stems and seeds and shrapnel, some rolling papers and a roach. At least my mom isn’t giving me “the look”. I throw the contents of the frisbee in the garbage. Strike one million… I’m numb to the jackassery and for some reason challenging myself to deal with it for the week. The Hans is just waking up and instead of coffee puts on Suicidal Tendencies, blasting his Bluetooth speaker at full volume. It’s 5:30am. “too much…turn it down, it’s too early” I tell him. He disappears up to the deck while I’m getting coffee going. I hear the music cue up again, it seems louder even though he’s farther away now, right next to another guest who is stretching and prepping for a morning session. I hear The Hans’ (stupid) voice, presumably a reply to something the guest said to him, “nope, I gotta’ get psyched up for surf!”. I finish setting up the coffee station and go up to the terrace to get the music choice and volume into the right dimension. An argument has ensued between The Hans and the other guest.

The guest that The Hans is engaging, we’ll call him Willy, is the best guest any business could have. In my 10 years operating this is about his 40th visit. At an average of 10 days per visit, that’s 400 days, or over 10% of Willy’s life spent paying to be a guest at my establishment. As a guest of this calibre he has carte blanche, but more so, in all these years, we’ve bonded, we are very good friends. You can be smart without being funny, but you can’t be truly funny without being smart. Willy is both. He’s a self-made man who worked hard early on in his life, sacrificed a lot of surfing to earn a Phd in Chemistry and translated that hard work into a retirement where he can pretty much surf as much as he wants. He chooses, most of the time, to do it with us and I don’t want that to change. As I mount the terrace to engage The Hans, Willy has already engaged him. “you’re just a button up douchebag,” The Hans bring the low road to Willy, which elicits a smile from both of us. (to this day we refer to each other occasionally as “button up douchebag”…it’s become a term of endearment). Willy doesn’t need or want help, it’s his fight and proceeds to dissect The Hans into a defensive whimper but not before The Hans continues “you just think you’re too cool, like some kind of big shot and you don’t even know me” The Hans makes his weak attempt at a position.

“No (The)Hans, I just don’t like you, so I choose not to talk to you. I’m okay with that, us not being friends, but weather we’re friends or not, you need to be considerate of other people and blasting your music at 5:30 in the morning is not being considerate, it’s being a jerk.” I don’t think Willy could have been more honest or concise. Ten years running surf camps and I’ve rarely had a situation so awkward and yet so fun. There’s an old saying that “the guest is always right”, which is wrong. The guests isn’t always right, we just try to make them feel that way. Sometimes, the guests is wrong and sometimes you have to fire a guest. This is one of those situations.

There were some other minor transgressions on the first full day of The Hans. Willy didn’t want me to get rid of The Hans because we had another friend/guest scheduled to arrive and we agreed he had to meet The Hans too, just for fun… but I want to fast forward to his second day, because that’s when this story gets good.

Day two: It’s a lovely morning and I get up with my kids to make “kids coffee” , a.k.a. hot chocolate and we all start heading for the upper terrace , a ritual we follow just about every day. As I mount the stair landing I see The Hans and his girlfriend are on the terrace…which would be fine, except The Hans is cleaning weed, clearly to roll a joint, on my railing, where I sit and drink coffee with my kids who are 3 and 8 years old. They haven’t started smoking pot yet and I’m hoping they’ll wait a few more years, but The Hans isn’t worried about that, or Willy who is quietly doing his stretching. He gives me a sideways glance.

When I get really angry my eyes twitch and vibrate, I’m trying to remain calm as I attempt to shield my childrens’ view of what The Hans is doing, so they don’t ask, “what’s he doing daddy?” I can only imagine, “Hey kids, come here and sit on my lap, let The Hans teach you how to roll joint!”… that doesn’t happen, luckily, or this story might have ended sooner. My eyeballs vibrate more and I lose my vision for a moment. I set the little ones down to the side a ways away, luckily they’re distracted by their kids coffee. I then turn and say quietly to The Hans, keeping my voice low and controlled, looking into the icy blue glaciers “I want you to get that shit out of here right now, in fact I want you to go downstairs and get all your shit and get out of my house! I’m done with you”. I’m looking for the clean break. I’m no longer family, concerned uncle, cool uncle, or angry uncle. I’m nothing except angry at him. I’m the dicky hotel owner who won’t let him break the law whenever and wherever he wants. Call me a button up douchebag, I’ll be the one not in jail. The Hans looks at me with those beautiful eyes and that stupid face, like he wants to know if I’m serious, I am. I don’t flinch, I nod for the exit and he gets up to leave… festering wound of a mouth mumbling “gosh…what’s the big deal, I didn’t even know people were going to be up here, I wasn’t going to smoke it here…man I thought the vibe was way cooler here…I thought you were cool, but I guess not…” blah blah blah, squirt squirt squirt, it all sounds and smells like shit.

That’s not the end though, I am the dumber one. It was not a clean break up.

The Hans is not good at not getting his way. What was supposed to be his quiet exit turned into a series of pleas, his best attempts at rationale, which apparently had a short term effect. In the process of trying to explain myself, which I should not have attempted, it showed the chink in my armor, we get deep and very personal. I’m very clear that his ADHD is not something he should be medicating with Marijuana. I’m using examples of how his behavior makes many around him uncomfortable. I’m suggesting that bad parenting is likely to blame, which he takes offense to, but I don’t back away from. I cite our verbal agreement and that nobody has done him any favors in life by not holding him accountable, and now that “Uncle Greg” is actually demanding some accountability he’s dumbfounded, emphasis on the dumb. And somehow…after about an hour of counseling and pleading with him to figure out his life and to agree to follow the house rules I, yet again, let him remain, fully aware it’s a mistake. He’s exhausted me. With his beautiful eyes and stupid fucking face. I’m weak, flat beer, unsalted butter, tasteless sauce…seeds and stems.

After our long conversation, The Hans and I are on a truce. I go about my business and he his…he puts on music at a reasonable volume. We are focused on surfing. I’m defeated and in a stupor wondering how I still have not gotten him out. Instead of lambasting me, Willy compliments me on my efforts and patience. We chat and laugh about the situation. The Hans is low hanging fruit for teasing, we do so within earshot of him, we don’t hold back now. There’s talk of involving the police. As I closed up my counseling session with The Hans I clearly inform him the boat is coming at 2pm for the Sandino trip….generally surfing makes everything better. I run to the airport to pick up the new guest so I can be back in time for the boat at 2pm. The boat arrives on time as it always does and most of the guests including the new one who just arrived are ready, they file out to the beach and paddle out to the boat. The Hans is not ready, he asks where everyone is going…he seems to be surprised that the boat is there. The Hans is so permanently baked all the time it sounds like a creaky door opening when he has to think. He needs his fins, which board, who stole my leash? Everyone is out the door paddling to the boat except The Hans. I inform him that I’m going to boat and that he has as long as it takes for the guests to grow tired of waiting, it’s a democratic process and if the majority vote we leave you behind for lagging, we will leave you behind. He almost gets left …but makes it in a last second, walking slowly just to piss us off. I’m done with him again…

That surf session was amazing and fun and shit went down. It was a very light crowd, just us with one other boat with two surfers…we are a total of about 10. Waves are glassy and just overhead with racy walls and even a barrel or two. I’m surfing mostly the inside bowl, but The Hans is following Willy like a yellow jacket on your plate of ribs n potato salad at a summer picnic in the park…you do your best to not pay attention and enjoy yourself. The Hans has taken to paddle battling Willy, it’s clearly a personal vendetta. Except if you’re going to paddle battle someone, it shouldn’t be a Black’s Beach local who’s 6’6” and a very good surfer. The Hans is getting schooled, each time crying with frustration and complaining because he just can’t get a wave while Willy is surfing circles around him. Willy waits for his turn, only to have The Hans drop in on him…Wily doesn’t flinch, makes a couple pumps, draws out a big bottom turn right around The Hans, comes up and hits the lip and continues on. The Hans falls trying to keep up. Then Willy sells The Hans some “bad apples”…this is a trick, a euphemism that we surfers use. When you have better wave judgement you can often trick another surfer into going on a wave that is of lesser quality. You can flinch and start paddling for the shitty wave, making the other surfer exercise their ego and use their priority to go for the shitty wave, then you take the next one that is vastly superior because that was the plan the whole time. You can sell bad apples verbally, “Hey, you want this little one, or the big one out the back?”. This subtle suggestion makes the other surfer think “oh, I want the big one out the back”, though you know the first wave is better. The Hans eats every bad apple only to find a worm in it. As he repeatedly falls and fails, he’s greeted with visions of Willy gracefully snaking his way down the line, threading barrels, carving pockets, every turn making The Hans more and more frustrated…it’s a beautiful afternoon and only one of thousands Willy has enjoyed at Sandino, he is a master of this element. The session ends after several hours when the tide comes up, it’s getting dark, we have to go…I call out for last wave to the remaining people in the water, but The Hans stays…we give him about 15 minutes, I’ve tried to call him out of the water several times, but he thinks he’s going to get redemption and/or he’s testing me. I tell the boat driver to leave The Hans there, drop us off at the house and to pick The Hans up on his way back to the port. The Hans, seeing us leave, begs a ride from the one other boat, which is fine, they give him a ride a few minutes later.

As we get back to the lodge a little ahead of The Hans, the guests shower and change quickly, they’re heading over to the neighboring bar for a cold one. I have to stay behind to get dinner ready, so I’m alone in the house when The Hans comes back up from the beach…it’s dark now. I recommend that if you’re going to lie to me, you should try to make it a believable one. After an entire session of falling and hardly catching a wave, The Hans yells from the beach shower to no one in particular, whomever might be listening, “I’m so glad I stayed, I got a double barrel with an air after all of you left me!” His voice is shaky with anger, his immaturity knows no depths…his dishonesty painfully evident. Nobody except me is there to hear the proclamation, but I laugh and encourage him, “That’s great (The) Hans!”

My plan is to have The Hans leave, I know, I know, I’ve said this before… but for “realsies” this time. I’m gonna’ do it!

While The Hans is showering I tell his girlfriend that I’m going to tell Hans this is his last night and he can leave in the morning and get a refund. I tell her that she may stay if she likes since it’s been paid for, but that after all the friction I’m not letting The Hans stay…. She says she’ll think about it. The Hans, after his shower, comes to brag about his imaginary wave and I interrupt him and explain: “(The) Hans, I’m going to give you tonight to stay, but you will be leaving in the morning whether it’s of your own accord or with the help of the police.” There’s a little gurgle of diarrhea about to come out of his mouth, I stop him from saying anything and reiterate that he’s no longer allowed in Miramar, he’s blackballed, I’ve called the other camps to let them know not to take him in. I explain that his behavior being late for the boat and then hassling guests in the water, not taking instructions from the boat captain, as well as his other transgressions, my decision is made, it’s not a discussion. I tell him he will be moving on and he needs to take this evening to make plans for his next step. I also explain to him that his behavior tonight will determine whether he gets a refund. If he’s quiet and compliant, causes no problems, I will refund his money when he’s out of Miramar. If I hear complaints or have problems or find he’s staying nearby, he’s not getting a refund and I’m calling the police to have him arrested. The Hans is not happy. I can see his gears turning, behind those beautiful eyes and stupid face. He senses my resolve and he disappears to his room. Later when his dinner is ready he doesn’t show. I knock on his door, his girlfriend comes out and grabs the plates and they eat in their room. Before I go to bed I tell him through the door that he has until 10am the next day to vacate the premises and to let me know if he needs another phone number for a taxi. No response, I retire for the night to prepare for the morning.

One of my new guests stayed out kind of late that night and when he returned at 11:30pm he sent me a message. He informed me that The Hans had asked him to leave the gate open, The Hans stated he was leaving that night. I was asleep until I woke up to the message notification, read it and thus had to get up out of bed to see if, in fact, The Hans was leaving. He was, I found him packing his gear. I was calm when I asked him what his plans were and once again, that stupid fucking face sprung a diarrhea leak. I was thinking I would call a cab for him or help him as best I can, but when he bowed up in my face and said “I’m getting my money back or else…” my eyes started vibrating.

I took that moment to inform The Hans that he was mistaken, that it wasn’t his money, it was my money and that it could have been his money if he had behaved himself and left quietly in the morning as we had agreed, but yet again, he fucked up. “So no, you are leaving now, you are not getting money back and if you’re lucky I won’t call the police.” I started dragging his bags off the property. Apparently he wasn’t quite done packing, I didn’t care. I’m not a small man and I found myself wishing in some way that The Hans would test me. I would relish the opportunity to make this physical. I pulled his board bag out the front gate with care and purpose, though I considered stomping his boards in half. I returned to “help” him with his other bags. He bowed up on me again, beautiful eyes wide as pie plates made of glacial ice…set into the dumbest face you can imagine. He had a fit of rage and I was within my rights to put hands on him…but I just wanted him to leave and I wanted to go back to bed. His girlfriend was a little help in getting him out the door. I thanked her for her help and understanding, I made one last offer that she may stay. As I got the last bag out the door, I shut the gate, locked it and turned to go back to bed. The Hans, now with explosive diarrhea on the other side of the gate, spewed some vulgarities. A rock bounced off the gate, he screamed fuck. It made me happy. The sweetest sound of success though, the true pleasure in all of this, was hearing the wheels of his suitcase and board bag roughly grinding through the gravel of the road, trailing off in the dark dead of night punctuated by a verbal tirade…squirt squirt squirt… I smiled and went to bed. I slept well.

The Exodus

Remember that first morning of summer break, waking up to the realization that you’re free…it’s a high like no other. That’s how I felt that morning after. While I was annoyed at his middle of the night decision to leave, it was for the best. I was relieved that The Hans was something of my past and nothing of my present or future. I was about as happy as I’ve been in a long time. The camp was buzzing with laughter and chatter at what had unfolded…everyone was happy he was gone.

There were a few more interactions worth noting, some hanging chads. The first Whatsapp messages to come in were fairly innocuous threats of “I better get my money back or else…”. I made one simple reply: “Making threats online or via text messages is illegal in every country in the world. I’m blocking your number, do not attempt to contact me or I will file a report with Interpol.” … I blocked his number and went on with my day. I’m pretty sure Interpol would do nothing, but it sounded good and scary.

It wasn’t too much longer when I received a message from his mother, Mama Hans. It was a brief chat, though with some lengthy messages and because of this I’ve pasted it in its unredacted entirety here for your reading pleasure;-)

8/19/22, 00:42 - Messages and calls are end-to-end encrypted. No one outside of this chat, not even WhatsApp, can read or listen to them. Tap to learn more.

8/19/22, 00:42 - +1 (208) xxx-xxxx: Hola

This is xxxxxxxxxxxx, Hans xxxxxxxx mom

Im sorry if my son has caused any troubles. We are trying very hard with him, teaching him the world. I would appreciate if you could refund me my funds that I sent you for the portion of his stay he didn’t get to stay. Thank you and god bless!

8/19/22, 00:45 - +1 (208) xxxxxxxxxx:

8/19/22, 00:45 - +1 (208) xxxxxxxxx: Here is my PayPal contact

(yes, what a great opportunity to “teach him the world” by dumping him on business owners to babysit. Also sounds like a great opportunity for him to learn how to accept the consequences of his actions.)

8/19/22, 06:41 - SIRENA SURF LODGE: Hans called me prior to his arrival asking permission to return. He needed permission because during his first week here he was breaking laws and house rules regarding being courteous to others. He arrived overly intoxicated and streaming vulgarities in front of my two small children and other guests. He deeply offended my mother and sister, who were visiting at the time, by referring to their yoga instructor, a nice young lady named Natalie, as a tramp. Hans referred to Natalie in this derogatory way because she refused his "romantic" advances. He was also reprimanded by me several times for openly smoking weed, rolling joints, leaving shrapnel on the furniture and in open areas. Weed is felony offense in nicaragua, it's my job to protect my business, family and livelihood from possible legal repercussions, something he has no respect for. I neglected my duties by not immediately notifying authorities and instead tried to reason with him, to no avail. When i granted him permission to return i was expressly clear that any of his prior behaviors, especially open use of weed, would result in me removing him from the premises with no refund. He promised me it would not be an issue and accepted my terms. He failed to meet his obligations and so i asked him to leave, he refused and i proceeded to talk with him about his this bad behavior had that he had a chance to receive a refund if he behaved himself, but yet again made poor decisions and thus he will not be receiving a refund. In his short tenure here he violated several laws as well as threatened and harassed other guests from both this business and guests and owners of other businesses in the vicinity. He has repeatedly offended other guests and my family with his vulgarities and lack of the most basic social skills. I'm sure he's spun a tale of what a horrible person i am, but I'm sure, because you know hans better than anyone, that the foregoing is true and thus his own doing and not mine or anybody else's. If you don't understand that, then you are more a part of the problem than a part of the solution. I wish hans peace in his troubled and immature mind, but he won't find it in miramar, he is no longer welcome in Miramar and I will contact the police if I see Hans here. Please tell him to not contact us. I wish you good luck.

8/19/22, 10:13 - +1 (208) xxx-xxxx: I do understand but it is actually my money not his and if he was asked to leave I understand why but since he is not there then there should be no charge. We have several VRBOs ourselves and if we told somebody to leave, we would return their money regardless of the situation. And our reviews are extremely important to us.

I’m sorry for his bad choices, he’s been struggling for years. We were hoping this trip would help to straighten him up a bit. I’d love to leave you a bunch of amazing reviews so that you can grow your business. I’m not sure if you know what it’s like to deal with addiction but it is taxing on parents. I really appreciate your understanding and so sorry for what happened. Thank you!

(You’ve got to love the “not so veiled” threat of bad reviews. How about this…what happens if I give the refund and I still get bad reviews. Now I’m out the revenue for the week I sold a guest and I’ve got bad reviews on top of it. No thanks, I’ll take my chances!)

8/19/22, 10:28 - SIRENA SURF LODGE: Vrbo's most lenient policy is a 14 day 100% refund and 7 day no refund ...Hans left in the middle of the night. I offered him the last night as a great courtesy, to give him some time to transition and I was going to refund a portion. He tried to sneak out in the night without informing me I told him he was breaching yet another contract and forfeiting his refund. At that point he lifted a fishing pole and threatened to strike me with it... I'd be happy to provide the video of this, as well as video of him smoking weed. I have it ready for the authorities, but maybe you can use it to teach him a lesson. That first lesson should be to pay you back your $2,000. I don't think a war of reviews is what anyone needs or benefits from. Hans should not be allowed to get away with this. Should I file a police report, or would you prefer to handle it?

8/19/22, 16:59 - +1 (208) xxx-xxxx: A police report? I’m not sure that’s necessary

8/19/22, 18:55 - SIRENA SURF LODGE: Good, it's a huge hassle for everyone, we'd prefer to let this go, bur I do hope Hans learns a lesson that we're not in the wrong here. If you enroll in school and get caught cheating, fighting or doing drugs you get expelled....you do not get your tuition back. If you enter a rehab/treatment center and fall off the wagon, you get kicked out and you do not get your fees back. I sold him a space and now it's too late to sell it to someone else...he owes because that is the reasonable expectation for a business. Thank you for your understanding.

…and that my friends, is the story of The Hans.

Postcript: A couple weeks later, a guest returned. He had left a board here for repair, the repair was done and his $120 set of FCS 2 fins had been left in a drawer next to the sofa… for safe keeping. I noticed The Hans in this drawer, there’s wax, sandpaper, fin keys for everyone’s use…but the fins were missing. The only obvious explanation is that The Hans is a thief too and stole my guests fins. We have a policy, as does every business, “that we do not accept responsibility for guests lost or damaged items”. I replaced those fins at my cost.

The last word, from the owner of the fishing boat was that The Hans had been cut off from the family. He was last seen in Shasta National Forest sleeping on Bigfoot's couch.

Fuck you Hans.