Daily Breeze, Aug. 10, 2001
PIER ABBY
BY COREY LEVITAN
PHOTOS BY BRUCE HAZELTON/DAILY BREEZE
Just about any schnook is qualified to give advice these days. I proved this last Friday night at the Hermosa Beach pier, where I sat behind a table with a sign reading "FREE ADVICE."
The media is jammed with so-called experts who don't reveal their professional qualifications. Dr. Laura's doctorate is in physiology, not psychology. Before counseling teen-agers on the nationally syndicated "Loveline" radio show, Adam Carolla was a carpenter who did comedy bits on KROQ-FM's "Kevin and Bean" program.
And if LaToya Jackson is clairvoyant enough to have her own psychic hotline, why have her career decisions led her to this?
My only qualifications for dispensing advice were a dark blue suit and two reference books, to help with whatever I couldn't answer through my vast expanse of human experience: "Gourmet Cooking For Dummies" and Highlights magazine. (Who knows more than Goofus and Gallant?)
I also brought a flyer to hand out whenever someone asked my name or my qualifications to dispense advice. It read, "Please don't ask for my name or my qualifications to dispense advice. How may I help you?"
Yet despite my blatant lack of credibility, for two hours a stream of lost and confused souls poured up to the table I set up between Patrick Molloy's and Sharkeez.
"What's the easiest way for me to make new girlfriends?" asked a woman in a fake fur who said that her company recently transferred her from Seattle.
"Should I stay together with my boyfriend even though he's in jail for six months on drug charges?" asked an 18-year-old girl.
I told the woman to enroll in courses at a nearby college or take yoga. I asked the girl whether she loved her convict.
My best friends usually cut me off in the middle of any advice I try offering. Yet here I was, holding vast crowds of strangers rapt with my sageness.
"I have a love FOR him but I'm not IN LOVE with him," the girl informed me.
"Then you should move on," I determined. "He's a loser."
Most of the questions were similarly easy; I never had to consult Goofus or Gallant: "Should I go to college?" (Yes.) "What's there to eat in a hurry around here?" (Pizza.) "Should I marry my boyfriend or not?" (If you have to ask the Free Advice Man, then, no.)
Lives definitely were changed by my enlightenment.
"What city should I move to?" asked one woman. "L.A. has too many rude people, it's too crowded and there's too much traffic."
"Scottsdale," I advised without blinking. "It's like L.A. was 50 years ago -- not crowded, inexpensive and just starting to build up."
"Oh my God!" the woman's friend said through a floored jaw. "He said Scottsdale! He's a psychic, too!" She had been recommending that Arizona city for months.
"There's this really hot guy she's interested in there, too," the friend added. "Case closed, you're moving to Scottsdale!"
One former Sharkeez bouncer asked what he
should do with his life. When he told me his favorite hobby was fixing classic cars, I advised him to start his own repair business, charging next-to-nothing until word-of-mouth builds. I told him a Web site wouldn't be a bad idea.
I also confirmed that becoming an airline pilot was a good career move for Grady Cimino, 19, from Manhattan Beach.
Some onlookers cast aspersions on the motives for my altruism, however, even after I dispensed my informative flyer.
"Are you a Mormon?" one young woman wanted to know.
"You're a pledge!" shouted one college-age male. "What school? Are they watching you right now? They're ALWAYS watching you."
I laughed, breaking my serious advice-giving face for the only time all evening.
"If you keep laughing like that, you're gonna do some push-ups!" he admonished.
Males were in the minority of advice-seekers. (I
think it's the same g
ene that prevents us from asking directions when we're
lost.) Those who did approach tended to have a comedic agenda.
"Should I whip out my **** and put it on the table?" one asked.
"Are you having a problem with it?" I countered.
"No, I just like whipping it out and putting it on tables." (He chickened out when dared.)
Another guy held his finger to his head like a gun.
"Should I do it?" he asked.
"Go ahead," I replied. "Fingers can't hurt you. But don't use a real gun."
Deciding that my free advice booth was the best way for HIM to pick up chicks, a surfer dude in a T-shirt promptly elected himself my partner, approaching all the good-looking women who wouldn't normally talk to him.
"Hey, you ladies need some free advice from this guy?" he yelled. It was the only 10-minute stretch during which no one approached my table.
Sure, there were a couple of questions I didn't have the answer to. ("Where's the nearest payphone?" for example.) However, most of my clients seemed satisfied.
"What you said was true," said Marc Biotti, 22, of Diamond Bar. "You explained it to me in a way that I needed to hear."
Biotti asked me how to deal with this girl who keeps playing games -- not calling back, breaking dates, etc. He told me he just called her back to bawl her out.
"I don't know if you can salvage it at this point," I advised. "Now she knows that you care. If she plays games, that means she's insecure and that you need to pretend that you're the one who doesn't care."
Biotti has no idea this advice came from a guy who once called a girl the same night I met her, like John Favreau in "Swingers."
Another guy enjoyed his session so much he asked for my autograph at the end. When I declined because it would reveal my name, he said, "That's OK, just write any name you want." (If you ever see a takeout menu from Brewski's signed by Madonna listed for sale on E-bay, don't believe it.)
Like most of my adventures, however, this one eventually went awry. The downturn came just after a lovely blonde girl in a tight white shirt sauntered up and hurled a fastball with surprising candor.
"When you look at me wearing this, do you think, 'Oh my God, she's a slut with big boobs!'?
Cocky by now from my massive approval rating, I prefaced my answer with a joke.
"The Free Advice Man's heterosexuality compromises the validity of any fashion tips he may dispense," I informed her. This made her laugh but also conveyed the important information that I was of the correct sexual persuasion for a hook-up. Then I moved in for the kill.
"No, I don't look at you and say that. I say, 'Oh my God, she has beautiful eyes.'" I then advised her to give me her name and phone number.
"That's the best advice I can give you," I said.
Then she gave ME some advice: she was only 15 years old.