Pool Etiquette

Growing up, there was a pool in my hometown that was run by the CEA.  The Callaway Educational Association was a group that aimed to segregate and separate the children of my hometown, but as a young teenager, I didn't understand all that.  The way it worked was that parents had to be "sponsored" by current members and if the children were deemed promising (read: white) enough, and the parents could afford the dues, then the children would be allowed to swim at the pool in the Summer.  We were also permitted to use the rec building (rainy days) and the library (they had "Helter Skelter"!).  There was a public pool for everyone else.  Each child was given a membership card that must be presented upon request.  Funny, I never had to present the card.  Knowing what I know about "The Association" now, when I ran across this card a few months ago, I felt like I had found my old white hood and cape.  I now belong to the city pool here in my quaint little town, and while it is not segregated, there are different hours for "patrons" and the public.  This past weekend was opening weekend and I took advantage of the nearly $200 annual dues and attended patron hours.  It became clear after a while that Patron memberships had either been hugely discounted or simply handed out at the local Sav-A-Lot.  Here are a few things that I experienced this weekend, not in any sort of politically correct form:

Someone saved the whales.  And they deposited them at the city pool.  Sure, I had the yearly anxiety just before leaving the house about my year older figure and my age appropriate swimsuit.  I chose a sensible one piece in blue, knowing in the back of my mind that the Florida rule would be in effect.  In Florida, the amount of skin coverage decreases in proportion to the amount of skin one has.  I sign in, find my lounge chair, and cue up "The Carrie Diaries" by Candace Bushnell on my Iphone.  There are a few kids playing in the water.  Everyone seems to have a firm grasp on how to act.  That is, until the whale delivery occurred.  Next thing I know, a large woman plops right down on the concrete on the side of the pool, right in front of me.  She has two kids in tow, both equally plump and well on their way to their heritage of Type II Diabetes and heart disease.   This woman seems to know everyone there, both children and parents.  I hear her mention (loudly) that she is a teacher.  This woman could not have been any louder or brash.  She was downright rude when scolding the other children, but indulgent with her own.  Clearly, her kids were the only ones allowed to have fun.  What a nightmare that must have been for the other kids, to have to deal with this whale August through May, only to have to deal with a less clothed version of her June through August.  She spread a towel right on the concrete and beached herself.  While her kids hogged all of the swim fun apparatus, she laid there, dreaming about supper.  After approximately 10 minutes of swimming, her fat faced daughter demanded a snack.  The whale hoisted herself up, after pulling her massive leg to her chestal area and rocking back and forth a few times.  I swear I thought a bunch of toddlers were going to run up and try to ride her.  As she was rifling through her bag, the daughter screamed from mid pool that she wanted TWO bags of chips, not one.  "TWO MAMA!!!"  Of course she got two.  She always gets two, apparently.  After a while, Mr Whale showed up and it all became very clear.  Mr. Whale was cute and fit.  And miserable.  He is also a teacher.  I imagined them starting out as a young couple, newly minted degrees in hand, strains of "We've Only Just Begun" swirling around them as they marry and begin a family.  Fast forward ten years and here we are...Bertha is pushing 275, too busy indulging the kids to get her roots done, and always talking 3 decibels over a socially acceptable level.  I bet she makes him empty her ped egg.  I said a silent prayer to myself, "Please, please, please, don't let that happen to me...I'll do my part, I swear". 

Pink was there!  A large family filed in, after arguing with the clerk that they "just paid for the membership yesterday".  The mom had a punk hairdo and she looked exactly like Pink.  She had a silver lame bikini on, but at least she had the body for it.  Her husband was bald and fat, and had a braided beard.  There were some young teen girls with them, and a couple of 8-10 year old boys.  I can't put my finger on it, but there was something amiss here.  Dad was inked up and mom had the requisite tramp stamp.  Dad was waaaaaay too involved in the fun of those teen girls.  The boys ran around like banshees, with steel straight spines; the mark of some sort of family tree branch quirk.  The whole family was creepy.  They had bath towels, which I was pretty sure came from an Knights Inn.  The teen girls sat off by themselves, probably trying to decide if "it's okay to tell".  My innate social worker antenae went up immediately.

Next up, there was a goth woman in a black swimsuit.  She had the whitest skin I have ever seen.  Not that one must be tan to be attractive, but seriously, her skin had a blue tint.  It wasn't a beautiful creamy white, it was fish belly white.  And, marred with cystic acne on her back.  Bacne.  She got into the pool and all her goth started running down her face.  Mascara at the pool?  Really?  So, from the front she was a very large version of Alice Cooper; from the back, the surface of the moon.  I decided to steer clear of her while in the pool, afraid the heat and the chlorine would irritate those eruptions.  Turns out, it didn't matter.  I spied goth chic with her head cocked in an awkward position and her left arm wrapped over her right shoulder and that is when I realized...SHE IS POPPING THAT STUFF.  Right there in the middle of everything, this woman decides to let go of some of her infection.  AAAAUUUUGGGGHHHH!!!!!  I would have rather seen a band-aid float by.  I have never exited a pool so fast, except for the time I spotted Ronnie James Dio at the pool in St Pete, but this was no Ronnie James Dio.  This was a biohazard.  It was a scene from "The Garbage Pail Kids" playing out right before my eyes.  I hurredly gathered my things and got the Hell out of there. 

How I miss those lazy days at the CEA pool.  Watching the cool kids jump off the diving board.  Wishing I had the nerve to take the swimming test to get my "fish" (the tag that says it's okay for you to enter the deep water).  Enjoying a melting Snickers bar and ice cold Coke with my best friend, Tina.  Times sure have changed.  I won't let the horror show of opening weekend disway me; I'll be back every weekend.  I've got 26 more chapters to go in "The Carrie Diaries" and I sure hope it gets better.