Don't Talk to Strangers

People like to talk. Most of all they like to talk about themselves. I have always thought of myself as a fairly good listener and I enjoy my curious nature to be fulfilled when people decide to bear their souls to me. What I can’t seem to understand is how people can tell complete strangers intimate details about their lives within the first two seconds of meeting them. I can’t say that I am a super private person, but some information I don’t give quite as freely.

As I was sitting in my chair looking at cookbooks (it was the book of the day) the lawn man, who was cautiously blowing all the newly cut shards of grass back into the yard, stopped in front of me. I simply lifted my head to smile, showing that I knew he was there but it was obvious that I was not looking for any kind of conversation. While his blower is still on and at his side he looks at me and says, “Well it looks like the season is coming to an end, huh?” I said that it sure was and that I had one more week. I thought it would be the end of it, but he had more to say.

“Well yea, we will be done in about a month or so too. I don’t know what we are going to do after that. I mean, we come back here to do some snow removal and stuff but that is about it.”

I tried to pretend like I was interested in what he was saying, but actually I was more interested that this 50 year-old man wanted to talk about his business with me. I kept silent and let him talk.

“My daughter is actually in Hawaii right now and I am thinking about going over there to work. Her fiancé is in the army and is stationed over there so maybe I could go over there. My brother is in the Virgin Islands and I could probably go over there too. My daughter is actually in town right now…but really its just a matter of getting the airfare and time to go over there. You know, I have never been to either of those places.”

At this point I was in awe. Here I was, listening patiently to this man ramble. He seemed to be enjoying the one-sided conversation so I let it continue. He started talking about what he was going to do. I simply wished him good luck and he was on his way.

I thought about starting to wear a Frankenstein mask to work tomorrow. Would people still approach me?

The Powers that be

Sometimes I am in awe at the powers that I hold by simply wearing a red suit with an itchy embroidered logo on the chest. The wildest of children can be controlled with a simple “tweet” and an intense glare. I rank higher than the babysitter and sometimes even higher than the parents themselves. I have reached the ultimate high place of power on the younger beings. Of course I have a few examples to prove my point.

I believe that they are CBMs (Crack Baby Mamma) children. I only assume so by the way that she blatantly ignores them until the point where her drunk friends cant take care of them anymore and she steps in with a booming order that they better listen…or else. Nothing ever follows the “or else”, so maybe that is why I have more power than she does. Although I must admit they listen to their mother, either out of love or fear (I would lean on the later). Well the pool always closes at the same time every night for children, while the adults are allowed to stay. I usually leave a window of time for the parents to round up their children, towels and scattered toys before I make ita point that their children must leave now. The window is roughly 15 minutes. When those minutes began to tick by, I realize that this might be one of those times where someone needed to step in. The children were running everywhere with their floaties still attached to their arms. They had blocked out all callings of their name and didn’t seem to feel anyone grab their arms to shake them into paying attention. Now, my sister Lisa (sometimes nicknamed “the Nazi”) was there with me and I could tell that her patience was slipping. No one should underestimate the temper of someone shorter than 5 foot. She may be short, but I am pretty sure she could pick me up over her head if she wanted to. I didn’t want to deal with the rowdy kids, so I sent Lisa to figure it out while I watched. At this point the little kids were in the baby pool and running away from any adult that tried to capture them. They didn’t see Lisa coming. I watched as they rammed into Lisa’s legs. She calmly looked at them, got on their level looking straight into their bewildered faces. “You need to walk and you need to go home with your mom.” It was simple. They didn’t turn, but seemed to be backing away from Lisa’s face. The woman saw her chance to grab them and did so. Her face showed a mixture of relief and exhaustion. It’s amazing what a lifeguard can do. Amazing.

I must admit I have abused these powers once or twice, but for good reason. Some days I just don’t want to deal with anyone’s crap, so I whip out the sitting out card. This card for me is as good as a “get out of jail free” card in Monopoly. I get that giddy feeling whenever I use it. Like it is sly trick that everyone knows is there but they don’t think I will ever use it. Well, I do. There are certain children that annoy me. I try to ignore them, while obviously watching to make sure they don’t do anything too stupid. But there are days where they just push my buttons. There are so many ways that I can scream “WALK!”. My most recent example is of the twin boys who pretend that they can’t hear me. Really, its super cute how they jog around the pool at half speed and slam their bodies into the water, only to go under right when I realize that they might have crushed their skulls against the side of the pool. They obviously don’t see this, nor do they care. So instead of my usual ignoring-until-they-get-hurt plan, (that works miracles) I decided to pull the kid out the water and give him a talking to. As he was climbing out of the pool I said “Hey, Kevin.” He glanced up, frozen in mid-climb to stare at me. He either wondered how I knew his name or why he was about to get into trouble. “ Listen. I have told you not to run. If you do it one more time, you will sit out. Do you understand?” He looked at me not moving. I asked again, “Do you understand?” He nodded and swam gloomily away. Maybe I shouldn’t of used my quiet harsh tone with him, but you know what: some kids need it.

Activity for the Mindless

Again, I just want to emphasize that I underestimate the pool people. This is how my day began:

Opening up the skimmers after two whole days is a horrible idea. You should always check them daily, just in case there is a deadly present waiting, floating and contaminating the water. Today was the day for that. I found a very large and very dead mouse swirling around in the skimmer. I always have to gear myself up for dealing with this sort of thing. It's not that I am faint of heart or can't handle it, its just the fact that there is a dead animal that close my face. I don't like it one bit. I walked around for a few minutes, telling myself just to close my eyes and swoop it up in the net. It's hard when you can feel the wait of that poor animal in the net and then the "plop" into the empty trash can. Gives me the heebie-jeebies.

After that incident was taken care of, I sat down with my book and prepared myself for a boring day. While the sun was shining, it was still only 74 degrees outside. To my surprise one of my regulars pulled up in his shiny red Pontiac. The man always wears red shorts, a red surfer shirt and black tennis shoes. He usually shows up around 4:30pm on weekdays (only) and falls asleep in a lawn chair for exactly one hour. He is a man of routine. What threw me for a loop was when he showed in a white T-shirt, jeans and some white tennies. I didn't know what to think. I glanced at my watch and realized that it was only 10:15am. He walked over to me and asked me how was I doing. Assuming that our regular conversation would follow I said I was fine and told him about not worrying about having his pass with him. He smiled and instead gave me a sheet of paper that had a Six-Flags logo on it. I was too shocked for words. He said that he had found this coupon this morning and thought I could use it. With that he left. I was still sitting there with the coupon in my hand, unable to get anything but a "thank you" out of my dropped jaw.

Later on, a woman came to lay out in the not-so-hot weather. She made small talk with me, asking if it was really boring working all week with no one to watch swim. I laughed but told her that I just do a lot of reading. She wondered how I was able to work in the middle of the day. I told her that I was "done with school." She eyed me suspiciously and asked me what I was going to do once the pool closed. My stomach dropped at the thought of yet another job hunt that needed to happen. I told her that I would just wait and see what happens. Her reply: "Well don't wait too long." Grandmother advice with a bit of punch. She then decided to leave me with one more bit of advice: "Have you ever thought about going to college?" Bite me.

Lastly, I would like to leave every pool person out there with a bit of advice. If the lifeguard is wearing pants, a sweatshirt and actual socks then it just might be a little too cold to swim. Just a thought.

Veer left

The desk in its original state. Not such a purrty sight.

Taking a break from the "pool life" I have decided to reenter my world of crafting. It has been a while since I have had any projects underway. I thought that buying a desk for my room might cure my itch for a good project. I was right. Here are the pics that I promised of the phases that I went through with this beat up desk. I bought it from Goodwill for about $40 and then did my own thing. Took me about a week to finish it all, thanks to the pool being open ridiculously long hours. I am getting back into the grove of it all.

PS. The library has a whole section dedicated to crafting and painting books!!!! It is amazing. It is like a children picture book...only better.

Took it apart and sanded it all down. Took more arm power than I thought.

Primed it, sanded some more and let it dry.

The base color is a bright turquoise. A little too bright just to be the finished desk.

With a light blue wash on top, I would say that it is complete! I added some new black knobs to it too.

Short people DO NOT age

As I get older it is harder for me to decipher people's ages. Sure they look under 20, maybe they look a few years past 50, but targeting someone's exact age is merely impossible: especially if you are short. At 5'2 and about 110 pounds I have the build of a 12-year-old boy. I try to glance back at old pictures, five years ago to be exact, and I still have maintained the same look. I just haven't changed much. I guess I should be joyous in the fact that I maintain the youth that others yearn for, but I have to admit that it has become annoying. I may be short, but I am old enough to drive, old enough to drink and yes I am out of school (not just high school). I guess I can only blame myself for my mistaken identity as a teen, there are not many 22-year-old life guards out there, but really I am leaning on the breaking point of having to defend my age. The day I have to whip out my drivers license to prove it...will be the day that my caged rage is set free. Today is not yet that day, but I want to share the few experiences that I have had in the past few weeks.

First, let me explain that I work at the same pool as four of my siblings (all of which are younger). Mark is four years younger than I am, and was recently asked if he was 24 years old. That is what I do not understand. He is about 5'8 and a strong build, but where do they find it in the age system to mistake him as my OLDER 24-year-old brother? I was later asked when I was going to get my license. Bite me.

A few days ago I was sitting at the empty pool, minding my own business and reading yet another novel. Two guys walked in with shameless beer bellies and a cooler that was filled with (you guessed it) beer. They glanced over at me and made some idiotic remark about how "busy" the pool was. I politely laughed and hoped that they would just leave me alone. That didn't happen. The yelled across the pool, asking: "You wanna beer?!" They chuckled afterwords, probably thinking that they were being so hilarious asking the 15-year-old lifeguard if she wanted to drink an alcoholic beverage when she is so obviously underage. I smiled and said "No thank you, not right now." They didn't see my secret scowl that I hid under my sunglasses (thank you dark tinted ones). Later, when the storm was about to wash over the pool (YAY!) they asked if I could have one now because it was going to rain. I simply stated that I don't drink on the job. They were stunned. They laughed, but looked at me with that odd look saying "Huh?" I wanted to just tell them how old I was, but how do you bring something like that up? And really, does it matter? I guess not. Maybe one day I will look back on these days and laugh, praising God that I don't look like a 35 year-old...or maybe not.

So, it just occured to me that short people can not and will not age. I will remain the same size as I was in 9th grade, and I guess I better accept it. I am sure other people would die to retain the same shape as their scrawny 9th grade self, but I am still dealing with the fact that being short automatically makes me immature and naive. Boy, do I have news for you.

Enough of my ranting and raving. I feel better.

Ker-Splat

I have witnessed the whole egging scene before. Usually it consists of one carton, a few bored teenagers and immature decision-making skills. Seeing a car with the wet yolk running down the side of the window always seemed comical to me. It must be harmless, a harmless act that can be cleaned up quickly. I horribly confess that I even partook in “egging” way back in my junior high days. Maybe it was the adrenaline rush that got me, or the fact that I was doing something that I wasn’t supposed to be doing. I never did get caught. Now, what do they say about karma?

Monday mornings are always my favorite. It is finally a time where I can slack a bit on opening duties and sit back and enjoy a book for about six hours. I usually move a few things around, pop open one of those crusty umbrellas and sit back to a new adventure in one of my library books. This morning turned out to be a little different. As I yanked open the rusty lock on the lifeguard “shack” I quickly grabbed an umbrella and pivoted to check out the deck. Out of the corner of my eye I caught a gleam of something white. Was it what I think it was? I jerked around again, this time to fully take in my surroundings. That piece of white made its way around the entire deck. Cracked eggs, splattered across the concrete deck with their dried yellow yolk staining everything it touched. I stood there, shocked. Still gripping the umbrella, I took a few steps forward to peak into the pool. I held my breath. Sure enough, at the depths of 10 feet of water, were a few dozen eggs. Some were broken, their yolks floating in a small area like yellow jellyfish. The rest of the eggs lay silently on the bottom of the pool, like small little treasures…that reeked! The stench took over my senses. Rotten eggs.

I couldn’t tell what was worse, the fact that I was going to have to sit at the pool smelling this for another six hours or that I was going to have to dive down in egg-infested waters to retrieve the little tokens that the culprits left behind. Realizing that I was still holding the umbrella, I quickly laid it down and ran up the rickety steps to the Trustees office. Their two smiling faces greeted me. They had no idea what was coming.

"Have you seen the pool?" I asked quietly. They both jumped out of their comfy swivel chairs (which I have half the mind to swipe one of these days as a reading chair) and ran towards the deck, peering over the rotten wood. A jumble of expletives flew out of their mouths. I tried hard not to laugh, because this definitely wasn't a laughing matter. Instead I leaned over too, trying to detain the inevitable cleaning I was going to have to do: alone.

The trustees went back to call the police. I don't know what use that would be, but a report was made (saw the darn thing, about three pages long). I trekked back down to the egg-splattered pool deck and started with the cleaning process. I can't imagine how many pieces of white egg shell and slime touched my fingers. I tried to breathe out of my mouth, but gave up after 10 minutes. Instead I gradually learned to ignore the stench that was constantly in my nose. My gag reflex was tested many times.

As I made my way around the deck, picking up white shards, I came across a large pool of red. I was perplexed. Where did it come from and how did it tie into the egg charade? It was dumped over white lawn chairs, staining the bleached straps in light red spots. I soon found the 64oz. jar of Prego sauce in the dumpster nearby. I hate being the victim of stupidness.

I paraded around the deck, mindlessly following the trails of shells. I warily kept glancing at the pool, trying to postpone the duty of gathering the eggs from the bottom. There was not an alternative. That was not until the Trustees called one of the "rule-breaking" squirts to come down to the pool and help me. It was a better punishment than I could ever dream. The poor kid, after one dive, came up and looked at me with those big goggle-covered eyes and said,"It smells."

After all the eggs were collected (I was afraid to count them, but it turned out to be around 30 or 40) I started the vacuuming process. That alone took over an hour. By the time I could get around to reading my novel, I was exhausted and smelled like a foot.

Anyone know how to clean up egg yolk off of concrete? I sure don't.

Until the next fiasco...

Bursting my Bubble

As I have mentioned before, being a lifeguard allows you the power of invisibility. A lot of people are envious of this super hero power that I have so easily obtained: and you should be. My invisible bubble can only be used during time of great need: while on the stand. Sitting in the chair that is so supreme and high above the lowly patrons, is an honor. This invisible bubble lasts in 25 minute intervals and can only be penetrated in three, very specific, ways.

1. If my whistle is blown. I try to keep a low profile on stand, observing the patrons with a watchful and keen eye. All my senses are at their utmost high (you are allowed to laugh at this). But when my silence is broken and the shrill, distinct sound of my whistle is heard throughout the land: then it is time to make my presence known. Heads snap to lock in on my location, as wide-eyed children wait to find out who is the culprit. After my victim receives their lashing of breaking one of the many rules, I resume my invisible bubble and stand guard.

2. Conscious realization that I am there. Topics of conversation always very. My shock at the most crude remarks remains hidden under my dark-tinted glasses. They can't see who I am observing, and I like it that way. But when that poor soul talks about things that NO ONE would want to overhear, they sometimes realize their mistake. Although I may not be on the same level as them, the sound DOES travel. And it travels far and clear. They are then quick to apologize loudly in my directions for their crude remarks or stories. I merely smile, wave and hope that they will learn to keep their voices down.

A few weeks ago I was working a pool party (one of the many perks) and could distinctly hear the rude comments that three teenie-bopper girls were saying...about me! They were a good ways across the pool, but their mouths were facing me and the remarks were crystal clear. They laughed at my looks, the way I dressed and the fact that I was bundled up head to foot in sweats (due to the fact that it was about 60 degrees and windy). I gave them an obvious stare, not taking my eyes off the loud-mouthed, leader of the group. When they saw my stare, my invisibilty bubble still remained in tact, for they assumed that I was deaf. Their remarks "Omg! She is like staring at us right now. Omg. She can like see me!" Smart ones, they were.

3. Validation for water temperature. Children seem to be unaffected by harsh temperatures of water. Rain or shine, they head for the frigid waters with a giant leap, then plunge. There are no seconds thoughts. Mothers seem to take to the water quite differently. They gingerly place one leg into the water, while gripping the hot metal railing. Their mouths form the shape of an "O" and they suck in a quick breath in attempts to convince themseleves that it isn't so bad after all. That is when I come into play. They like to look up at me, in hopes that I might give them consolidation for the water that their children are forcing them into. I feel no pity. They act as though I know what they are going through. But truthfully, I have only been into the pool maybe 5 times the entire summer. Both on occasions that it was so brutally hot, that the difference between the amount of sweat or the amount of lukewarm water, really made no difference. So instead of me trying to coax them through their painful experience, I just smile and nod as they say "Oh my, this IS cold." Tell me, what do you want me to do?

There is the story of the invisible bubble. Maybe it might stick with me after I leave the stand...but I doubt it.

The Tale of a Man

There was once an old wrinkly man who lived by the pool.
He hated small children who didn’t go to school.
He tanned every day and smoked ciggs more than he should.
His shorts were too short and his teeth made of wood.
The sounds he made were never pleasant or nice,
He hacked and gulped ever so often sucking on ice.
Where he goes at night, no one knows.
Every morning, in the same chair, he shows.

T to the third power

There is a thing called T3. This is a Terrible, Toddler Tantrum. You will know what it is when you see one. I happen to be a skilled people watcher (and being the eldest have witnessed more than my fair share). My powers are surprising. I have learned to weed out the weak swimmers, label the single mothers and zero in on the problem children. The tantrum is one of the more unique episodes that I am able to observe while sitting in my invisible chair.

It is always the children that seem so innocent, carrying their bag of toys while wearing ridiculously tiny flip flops. They are the ones that you have to watch out for. The moment I set my eyes on "Cayden" I knew that he fit the profile. He was bouncing between two categories. 1. The child who will drown quickly after he forces his mom to take off his life jacket or 2. The child who throws tantrums, not even a mother could love. I quickly found out that he was both.

Cayden was promptly suited up in his Racecar decorated piece of foam. I never liked lifejackets. They look quite ridiculous, even on the cutest children. Arm movement also proves to be quite difficult. That leaves me with a pool of bobbing children. Up and down they go, never really doing much but sit and giggle at the fact that they can go in the deep end and not worry about the depths that could swallow them whole.

Cayden began his adventures with a few kicks and splashes, easily making it from the wall to the steps in a matter of seconds. Of course he had to come over and say hi to me (one too many times) and then head back to carrying a diving stick around or just meerly floating along. His delightful giggles began to be intermixed with shrieks of annoyance. It started with 5 minute interval which were quickly shortened to 30 second ones. This boy could yell! I tried to hide my smile as the young mother tried to calm him.

The spasms attacked his vocal chords, making it impossible to decipher what he was trying to get across. If hadn’t been watching him, I would of thought someone was stabbing him. The painfully shrill screams stretched across the pool. Other patrons were quick to watch the single mother and see how she would handle her spastic child. She didn’t know what to do. Soon the answer was made clear: he wanted a noodle. A noodle was given and the screams disappeared as quickly as they came. I could tell by the shrieks that Cayden was not going to last much longer. Soon, there would be peace and quiet.

Cayden lasted for only about 15 more minutes with his ‘bestie’ Madison. They bobbed along using diving sticks as their imaginary “beers”. “Look mom, yummm. It’s beer.” The shocked looks on both mother’s faces were priceless. Their jaws dropped but then turned into giggles. I tried to maintain a straight face as Cayden and Madison slurped down their “beers”, but my efforts failed.

Side note: How do children play by themselves for endless hours? There IS only so much you can do in a pool. I am baffled.