“They’re closed.”
I’m sitting on the steps of the Richmond Plunge fuming as a large middle-aged white guy continues walking toward me. He’s donned a Covered California black mask and is rummaging through his swim bag. Looking for.... money? .... Vaccination Card?.... Brain?
“They ARE
CLOSED!” I holler at him again.
This time
he hears me, stops. At the requisite 6 feet social distance. I don’t have my
mask on. I’m too mad to care.
“Why?” he
asks.
“Staff illness.”
He shakes
his head, “Damn....” he sighs. “I’ve been burned at this place before.”
“You come
here regularly?”
“I used to,
but then with COVID, I got out of the habit. But now, I’m trying to get back in
the swing of things.”
“Yeah,
well, no swing today,” I mutter.
He chuckles.
“Nope, guess no endorphins today.”
I smile, “Exactly!”
“I used to cycle, but then I had to give that up because I have....” He mutters something behind his mask that I can’t understand. I’m so sick of not understanding people cuz of the goddamn masks. Can’t they invent masks with built-in microphones so we can hear?
“......and
my doc said if I fell, I’d have to go in for a brain scan or if there’s any
blood loss well then, I’d be dead within minutes.”
Did he
really say this? Is he a hemophiliac? I remember there was a hemophiliac at the
Oakland Y who was always given his own lane. If anyone had kicked him or if he
ran into anyone and bled, he’d be a goner. I always wondered if this were
true. I mean, was he really a hemophiliac? Isn’t that pretty rare? And only for
royalty?
This guy looks
healthy and sturdy. Hardly a hemophiliac type if there is a type. I imagine
they would be skeletal and pale, with blue veins popping up on their arms and
legs ready to burst.
But I don’t ask this Sturdy Guy if he’s a hemophiliac; I just nod and tell him about how bikes are dangerous. My brother-in-law fell off his and broke his hip.
“Yeah, you
can’t do that in the pool,” he laughs.
I’m still
mad, though, because the pool is randomly closed even though this guy is distracting
me. He doesn’t seem mad at all. Why is that? Do some people just not have the
same NEED for swimming that I do? And, if so, how can I be more like them? The
Plunge is so unreliable. Last week, Ian and I couldn’t even get in because it
was so crowded. Fortunately, I had a premonition that this would happen and had
brought my wetsuit. So, we went to the beach.
But today?
I didn’t have any premonition.
I rise off
the steps and start to walk toward my car. Sturdy Man turns to walk with me. We
come upon V. and a friend of hers, deep
in Pool Closed Complaining Mode. “Hey V,” I interrupt.
“Hi Cj, the
pool is closed.”
“Yeah, I
know, it sucks.”
“K and I have
just been complaining about it for 10 minutes. I don’t understand why they
couldn’t send out an email warning us of the closure. It’s like they don’t
respect us lap swimmers.”
Sturdy Man
is lurking behind the group, but I can tell he’s agreeing. We all are mad. It’s
such a waste of our time, money, and energy. And V is right. There seems to be a
lackadaisical disregard for swimmers at the Richmond Pools. I get it that there are staffing issues, but if
they have time to put a sign on the door, don’t they have time to send out an
email letting us know?
“Yeah,” I
agree with V now, “I even looked at my email this morning. Nothing.”
“I just
think they need a better system,” V continues. “They don’t respect us swimmers!”
she repeats. I watch her chocolate chest heave up and down. She’s mad too. Well,
at least I’m not the only one!
Sturdy
Swimmer Man takes off, waving goodbye. I stand for a moment, listening to V tell
another story about how she couldn’t get in the other day even though she was
on the waiting list. They just forgot her!
“I think
that was the day you went to the beach, Cj,” she said.
“Oh, yeah,
that’s right. Did you end up getting in?”
“Yeah, but
not till 12:25.”
“So, you
got in about 30 minutes? That’s better than nothing”
She nods, “Yes,
it’s better than nothing, but still I could have swum with my friend D. We know
each other and feel comfortable with each other and I could have shared a lane with
her but they forgot me!”
Is she ready to cry? I don’t think so, really, but it’s horrible to be forgotten. Esp. if it’s to swim!
 |
| Weeping Woman, Rembrandt |
I give her
my condolences, turning now to head back to the car. “Enjoy your day....” I say.
“If it’s possible without a swim!”
“I just
think they don’t respect us. I think they could have sent out an email!” V
repeats.
I nod, sighing, heading across the street, trying to rein in
my anger and frustration before getting in the car and driving home.
A truck
loaded with junk almost hits me as I cross the street. I barely notice as I
beep the car open and heave my unused swim bag into the back. Sitting inside
the car, I stare out at the green park with dogs playing fetch and people
standing around chatting. They all seem happy as can be.
Maybe I should
get a dog, I think, as I start the car and back out of my space.
