Sun Blockers: Poolside Party Poopers

8 Jul

It was with a sigh that my fiancé and I walked into the pool area of my apartment complex on a lazy Sunday afternoon to relax and catch a tan, only to discover that two of my earthy-crunchy neighbors thought it would be a fantastic idea to have a poolside family reunion. I’m talking the WHOLE family here, full attendance.

Now normally my neighbors and I live in relative peace, and this convention of happy morons may not have bothered me except for the following:

Some of the general wrongness occurring at the pool… Not to mention the odd discoloration of the pool water coincidentally located by the kids?

Some of the general wrongness occurring at the pool… Not to mention the odd discoloration of the pool water coincidentally located by the kids?

–          What with the dozen plus in attendance, one entire side of the pool was completely occupied, and no one was permitted to maneuver past the patchouli-emanating bunch to walk around to the other side of the pool.

–          After bypassing them at the other side of the pool, I thought I was at least spatially safe. And perhaps I was, until one of the granola-tastic parents decided to offer the pack of kids wagon rides around the pool. Around, and around… and around the pool. It was even more special for me that I was an apparent DC monument-style attraction on this tour around the pool, as the kids whooped and yelled at me every time they passed. (The free-loving driver found this adorable, and encouraged the children along at every pass).

–          The other miniature spawns of these guests floated around and screamed on their giant pool rafts which made swimming, or, I don’t know, trying to even think about swimming, really lovely. I was betting money that there’d be a couple of loose brown floaters in the pool by the end of the day.

–          And, when I thought it couldn’t get worse… It did. One of the fabulous hosts busted out an ancient boom box and pressed play, and the sounds that came out created a sense of true terror in my soul. Children’s music on full blast. Wheels on the bus going round and round, you know what I mean.

My fiancé and I were thinking we ought to bail as we were considering helping each other to a little assisted suicide by drowning in the pool to put us out of our misery.  Just when we were talking each other off the edge (of the deep end), the first pair of Birkenstock ladies gave each other what appeared to be hugs goodbye. Our salvation was near… they were leaving.

We stayed put on our towel-covered lounge chairs and watched with growing anticipation as the coolers were slowly packed, rafts were fished out of the pool, and tie-dyed skirts were tied around waists. My bleeding ears felt a small bit of relief as the vomit coming out of the radio was silenced. The moment was lost when the kids began screaming again. The edge of the pool was looking really tempting again.

Finally, thirty minutes later, Woodstock left the pool once and for all. And of course, as with any festival, the participants left a trail mix of remains. Seriously, these were the worst. hippies. ever. The non-recyclable water bottles, wrappers and other unidentifiable consumables (no doubt purchased at Trader Joe’s) littered the pool area, and who knows what deposits the kids left in the pool.

My only relief came when I saw the teenaged lifeguard put chemicals in the pool. Chemical cleansers make everything just a little bit better.

Well, as the Doors (my music of choice if I had lived during that era) said in one of their songs… “The time to hesitate is through.” Tilting my head back in my lounge chair, my fiancé at my side, I closed my eyes in the sun and finally dozed off with swirling visions of peace and love… but mostly, peace. Finally. 🙂


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