POOL'S CLOSED
I got down to the pool after a hell of a drive and it was closed. After all that. I won’t get into it but you can imagine what that would be like, to get to the pool and find it closed. You wouldn’t be happy.
There was no one in the pool because it was closed. It was an outdoor pool so all around it there was lawn and chairs and tables and some barbecues. I got right up against the fence and looked around. I could see a guy in a cap and overalls cleaning a little way over. I called out, “Hey! Over here!”
He didn’t hear me so I yelled again. I really yelled this time. I really gave it both barrels. I was pressed so hard against the fence at this point, leaning into it, grabbing at the links with my fingers in frustration, that it stopped me from saying the v in “over” properly. It probably sounded like “hggggh oh ahhh hee”. That’s probably why the guy brandished his rake at me when he came over. I can’t blame him for that. I’m not going to say that my open throat scream mightn’t have sounded frightening. I’m not going to deny I had red lines on my face from pressing it into the chain links of the fence. I got where he was coming from.
“Pool’s closed,” he said when I told him what I wanted. “C'mon,” I whined. I have no problem whining. I’ll tell you that straight away. “It’s right there. It looks great. Gorgeous water. What do you say?”
“I can’t let you in,” he said. “It’s not safe. There’s effluent in there.”
I rolled up a $5 note and poked it through the fence. “I’m great at keeping my mouth closed in the pool,” I told him. “I’m a vault. When I promise not to swallow any water and get sick from it you know I’m going to deliver. And if I accidentally drink a little bit I won’t tell them it was the pool that made me sick. I’ll tell them I fell in the toilet at home and a bit got in my mouth.”
The guy looked at the money. I could tell he was tempted. I wiggled it in case he had the type of brain that forgets about things that aren’t moving.
“What’s your bathroom set up?” He asked. “I need to know your story will be believable.”
I explained the whole thing to him. We squatted down on our haunches and I drew a floor plan in the dirt with my thumbnail. He nodded and asked a bunch of questions. In the end he stood up and said, “Well, you’ve convinced me… nearly. But there are still a lot of loose ends to this story, and in my line of work that spells trouble. I’ll need to see the bathroom.”
What choice did I have? We piled back into my car and got back on the highway. Traffic was terrible in both directions by this point. We were crawling. By the time we got home and back to the pool again it might not even be hot anymore. I was hating it. On top of all that the guy wasn’t even doing anything. Just looking at his phone. “Hey, c'mon,” I said, annoyed as hell, “is a little conversation too much to ask for?”
He ignored me and started fiddling around with the stereo. He was pairing a Bluetooth device. Unbelievable. Next thing I know he’s got a YouTube video on his screen and he’s turning the volume all the way up. “Hey, what’re you…” I start, but before I know he’s leaning across me to wind down the windows and hitting play on the video. It’s a police siren. Amazingly loud. It blasts through the speakers and out the windows. On the screen is a flashing blue and red pattern and he holds it up against the windscreen. “What are you doing?” I scream, but he just points ahead to where other drivers are pulling over to let us pass. I zip through. Takes five more minutes to get home. Amazing.
At my place he takes his shoes off and steps delicately around admiring my light fittings and whatnot. “Beautiful,” I hear him sniffle. In the bathroom he pulls out a tape measure and makes some notes. I pop through to the kitchen and make a smoothie.
When I get back he’s crying. “Aww,” I say, patting his shoulder cautiously. “It’s OK.”
He wipes his eyes and nose with the back of his hand. “No, it’s not,” he sobs. “It’ll never be OK again.”
I sit down on the edge of the tub. “Why don’t you tell me all about it?” I ask.
He goes off on some sob story about how he left his wife when a glamourous lady journalist came to the pool to interview him about what it was like being a pool handyman.
“Why did you do that?” I ask, exasperated.
“It was fun at first,” he sobbed. “The breeze in our hair, the sun, the lawn. The good times by the barbecues. Exploring the pump shed. But then the honeymoon ended. She went back to her job. I never saw her again.” He’s wailing now. Just bringing the house down. “So cruel. So cruel.”
I can’t believe the racket this guy’s making. “How’s it cruel?” I snap. “You met her, had your fun, she didn’t want you. Life goes on. Time to toughen up.”
“It’s not that she didn’t want me,” he sobs, trying to dry his eyes and running nose on his sleeve, “and it’s not even that I left my wife for nothing. It’s that my self-perception has been wounded. It’s easy, when you’re in a long-term relationship with someone who likes you, to assume that everyone will like you just as much as they do. And then you leave the safety of that relationship and find out that most people don’t like you.” He starts to cry again.
Well, he’s right. I clear out of the bathroom and get in the car. On the drive back to the pool he’s listless and quiet. I try to get him to do the siren trick by framing it as a fond recollection, like, “Hey, remember when you made the cars pull over by doing that siren trick? Ha ha. Terrific stuff.” but he doesn’t go for it.
It takes forever to get back to the pool. When we pull into the parking lot night’s fallen. Wordlessly he unlocks the gate and lets me through. I’m not going to let his sour mood get me down. I skip to the change rooms, then sprint to the pool in my swimmers. Just before I jump in the smell hits me. It stinks like shit and piss. No way I’m getting in there. No fucking way.
