They're Closed! AGAIN????

 

“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.