I’m usually alone at the pool for 7 of the 8 hours I’m scheduled to work here. Literally, its completely empty. However, between the hours of 4:30 and 5:30pm every day dozens of swimmers saunter down here for their workout, put on a face of disbelief in response to the sheer number of people who are just like them, and complain to me how busy it is. They roll their eyes and whine about how crowded it needs to be before they’ll quit their patronage after a lot of complaining to the front desk. Seriously. Come any other hour of the day to swim. Stop blaming me for your simple and uncreative choice in workout times.
It’s about that time of year when everyone starts complaining to me about the temperature of the pool.
It’s consistently 81 degrees. They don’t believe me when I tell them it’s neither colder nor warmer than it’s ever been.
In the summer they tell me it’s too hot and are angered when I say I can’t do anything about it.
They’re upset now that I can’t make it any warmer.
81 is a perfectly acceptable temperature for pool water all year ‘round, folks.
(—it’s sort of like how everyone gives me the stink eye or asks me “aren’t you hot?” on a 70 degree summer day when I’m wearing 3/4 sleeves and pants. If it’s during a winter month, people ask if I’m cold wearing the same thing in 65 degrees while they’re in their fucking jackets because society told them to be.
and yes I wear the same thing all year round because that’s what’s comfortable. I don’t even know what summer fashion is.)
"I guess we just use yards here."
- A few minutes ago, a gentleman and his son entered the pool area. The gentleman, who had a thick eastern European accent, approached me:
- Man: What's the length of the pool?
- Me: I think it's just a little over 20 yards.
- Man: 20 meters.
- Me: No, yards.
- Man: You give me how many yards the pool is?
- Me: [perplexed, I do some quick calculations in my head] Um, I think that comes out to around 18 meters, but I'm not sure if that's exact.
- Man: You know only yards?
- Me: I guess we just use yards here, but it's about 18 meters. ("we" and "here" meaning the fitness center)
- Man: You know I'm an American, too.
- Me: [I just nod]
- Man: Americans. [walks off]
I fucking hate everything about myself sometimes…
I’m sitting at work when three very skinny, very beautiful girls in bikinis come in to swim. They slowly slip into the water, shouting about how cold it is (it’s a balmy 81, btw). They use kick board and meekly kick for about 10 minutes while chatting amongst themselves before deciding their “workout” is complete.
None of them can lift themselves out of the pool (which is surprising in it’s own right because children do it all the time, next to normal, healthy individuals), so they use the ladder, instead.
They all look over at me, smile sardonically and head over to the sauna. Little do they know that anyone from outside of the sauna can over hear their conversation within, even more clearly than if they were out in the pool area itself.
Some indecipherable things are tossed among them, and then I hear:
“Yeah, well I guess we might look like that if we just sat around down here all day.”
[Laughter]
“Naw, at least I would swim if I was her.”
“Ugh, I hope I don’t gain weight there”
“As long as you keep doing this, you’ll be fine”
I don’t think I’ve felt this horrible about my body since I was going through puberty younger than anyone else on the swim team. Or that time in highschool when my doctor told me I could spare to loose a few pounds as I was preparing to row at Nationals.
How dare they make assumptions about my body and my lifestyle?
Fuck them!
They couldn’t even open the fucking swing door as they were leaving.
What am i supposed to do other than laugh nervously after an elderly Japanese regular insists that i dyed my hair? this is a man that comes in to swim like clockwork and literally waves to me every day. in addition, i’ve always, always had dark brown hair. I think he believed I was lying and was a little frustrated that i didn’t step down and admit to it.
patron: ah-you changed your hair
me: yeah, it’s a little messier than usual today
patron: no, you dyed it.
me: naw, it’s just messy
patron: no, you dyed your hair brown, i’ve seen it
me: ::nervous laughter::
patron: it was nice the other way
me: heh, okay.
“trash man” keeps coming up behind me and looking at my computer screen. after the third time he asked how i was.
i responded with “fine” and didn’t return the phatic expression.
in a few minutes he’ll jump in the water, dive to the deep end and fish something out of the filter, place it on the pool’s edge, beckon me over, smile sardonically as he points to the trash can.
huh
A few minutes ago i heard a loud crack and a rumble down here in the basement/pool area where I work.
I always assume this building’s going to fall on me someday, so I didn’t think much of it until a call from the front desk that said there was an earthquake in VA that was just felt here…
hm.
classicbrion asked: So I know your job provides a serious amount of stress and frustration, but your stories are absolutely hilarious. They make me feel less bad when I get asked by seniors who call into the ministry and ask who they're calling and why we're helping them for free. Still great stories
Haha. My job is rarely frustrating. There are some jobs which I KNOW are more stressful, ridiculous, & grating than mine. I’m probably working the easiest job there is for a college student.
Really, I shouldn’t even be complaining. The thing is, most of the people that come in that I complain about, I wouldn’t even make a mental note about if I ran into them on the street.
The regulars: trash guy, temperature lady, pacing dude, meak bitch, racial profiler-they’re only grating because I deal with their mannerisms and quirks every fucking day.
I admit, many people that come here feel incredibly entitled either because their parents pay for their tuition to this med school, or because they’re doctors and deserve everything this facility has to offer plus more.
But really, I don’t mention the really normal, humble patrons that come in every day-who say hello and understand my jobs limitations. There is normalcy in this dungeon, despite my complaints.
Also, you hear me complain about shit I’m sure most people would brush off. Engaging any amount of the population produces anxiety in me, and though I only deal with maybe 15 people a day, it’s a enough to give me a panic attack.
