The first tip that I heard was, "Sharks won't attack you if you've got your legs covered. They're attracted to the paleness." If I wasn't aware of how my own body looks, I would've taken this as an insult from the man dispensing shark trivia like the elevator was a party and he needed to break the ice. But I know that I'm a toothpaste creature of mayonnaise and snow. If someone calls me pale, it's because they simply have to. Calling me anything else makes it seem like you're trying to sleep with me.
The advice was the most solid that I received on the entire trip. Sharks are attracted to high-contrast colors, and to them, pale, freckled legs amid murky waters are potentially a delicious buffet.
The next advice I received was: "Sharks can't navigate waves, so stay where the waves are." This idea suggests that sharks do not like the ocean. The ocean is waves. If I had listened to the person who said that any longer, I'm sure they would've followed that wisdom with, "And if you meet any bears, run into the forest. The leaves will confuse their senses and they'll explode to death."
"Hello, my name is-" *KABOOM*
In this cavalcade of instruction, I also learned that the breast stroke is a stroke that attracts less sharks because it looks less frantic. This might work, unless you're 99 percent of people swimming in the ocean, where any swimming style you use is going to look like you're trying to win a game of underwater charades with the prompt "falling down the stairs." And it isn't really advice, but I did hear someone talking about learning how to ride with sharks like it was as simple as getting your learner's permit. I don't mean to shatter your confidence, own-a-boat-guy-in-stupid-sunglasses, but approaching a wave of shark-related incidents with the mindset of "It's OK, because I could easily mount them. And with my simple words in your brain, so could you" is barely helping. Announcing yourself to be the reincarnation of glorious SharkJesus just gives the group around you the impetus to drink faster.