So I couldn't get out of my wetsuit. I hated that. I hung out on the beach for about twenty minutes tugging at the long cord attached to the zipper (designed to allow people to get out of wetsuits alone) and looking around wondering who I would ask to help rescue me. Finally I decided that I couldn't do it, it was too humiliating, and I hoofed it up to the parking lot with my board on my head. Once at my car I wondered if I should drive back to the surf shop (to return my rented gear) in my wetsuit and get help there, or if I should just approach a stranger in the lot. I strapped my board on the top of my car and took my booties off . . . stall, stall, stall . . . and finally approached a mom with several kids. "Can I ask you to help me with the zipper on my back? It's stuck." She answered, "Do you have a quarter?" which I thought was hi-larious, and then one of the kids unzipped me. Dork. Nerd. Idiot. Durrrrrrr.
Guess what? It wasn't that bad. My worst fear happened and it wasn't that big of a deal. I hope it doesn't happen again, but if it does, I can handle it.