The Complex Pool

MANASQUAN, N.J. - No one likes the complex pool. It’s evident from the sign-up sheet. When I try to book a lane at my health club, those in the indoor pool are often taken while there are plenty of free lanes in the complex pool. It shouldn’t be a surprise. The indoor pool is warm and is next to a hot tub, sauna and steam room. The complex pool is on the edge of the parking lot in a big white inflated bubble. The water is a little colder, the door is really hard to open from what I imagine is the result of it being in a bubble, and there’s often hair in the shower. But I like having my own lane, so I often opt for the complex pool, and all its peculiarities.

A few days ago, I’d had my swim and was in the locker room when I overheard a mother talking to her young daughter, who was about four and wearing one of those one-piece bathing suits that are usually accompanied by water wings.

“Well, that was a short swim,” the mother said, as she helped the girl off with her swimsuit.

Just then, a woman walked into the locker room and said, “That was pretty quick.”

“Yes, it was,” the mother said.

The instructor must have cut short their swimming lesson, I thought, and people didn’t seem happy about it.

Just then, the young girl exclaimed, “It’s disgusting.”

I thought about the hair in the shower and on the floor and had to agree, but I was surprised to hear complaints from such a young girl. The club is in a wealthy area of the Jersey Shore, and I chalked it up to the girl being spoiled.

“Disgusting,” she said again, as she climbed into the shower.

“Just make sure you wash your hair,” the mother told the young girl.

As the girl got out of the shower, she said, “I don’t want to come back here.”

“They’ll clean it up by the time we come back,” the mother said, as she dried the girl off with a towel.

I suddenly realized what the complaining was about.

“Did someone poop in the pool?” I asked.

The girl nodded her head vigorously.

“Well, that is a bit icky. But I’m sure they know how to fix that,” I said, and then asked the mother, “Did you see Caddyshack?”

She laughed. “Yup.”

The next time I went for a swim, I paused before getting in the water and looked over at the kiddie pool, which mercifully, was separate from the adult pool. It was half the size and situated at the edge of the bubble. The pool looked clean, and there was a row of parents in chairs sitting along the edge, like they were at the Ritz Carlton in St. Thomas.

“Someone really pooped in the pool? Don’t they wear diapers?” I asked the lifeguard, who was standing next to me.

“Oh, sure, but it comes right out. It’s like an egg yolk. If it’s runny, it just goes where it wants,” he said.

I wanted to make a joke likening his description of excrement running everywhere to the situation right now in Washington, but I thought better of it. I hate that moment when you make a funny comment and realize the person with whom you’re talking, often someone I really liked, holds political views that are diametrically opposed to my own, and I wind up feeling profoundly disappointed. These days, I’d rather not know.

As I swam, I kept imagining what would happen if an adult accidentally pooped in the pool. The humiliation would be enough to cause a heart attack. Kids face an enormous amount of humiliation on a regular basis, whether it’s pooping or missing a baseball, or crying when someone takes your favorite doll. I find them very brave. Adults learn well how to avoid such embarrassment. I suffered great shame when I was a child, as my mother has repeatedly told me, because I wore a diaper until I was about four. I would apparently go into my room, pull the baby carriage away from the wall, stand where the carriage had been and shit in my diaper, and then move the baby carriage back where it was. But one day I was at a friend’s house, and the girl heard I still wore a diaper, and she laughed. That was the last time I wore one.

But laughing at someone’s developmental issue? I’ll bet I know who she voted for.