Eh Mr. Angry Golfer Man: Guess you didn’t get da memo that we go at a different speed here. You roll up to the shave-ice stand with your snot-nosed grandkid and immediately start mumbling under your breath that the line’s moving too slow. Turn around! There’s a gorgeous ocean right behind you, palm trees swaying in the warm tropical breeze. This is what you paid buku bucks for, and instead of enjoying it you’re shooting the stink eye at the teenage girl behind the counter slinging the flavored syrup. What, you got a tee time with Donald Trump? Reservations at the resort restaurant with your Xanex-and-chardonnay-stoned trophy wife? Relax, pull the nine iron out your ass and… breathe.