“Excuse me? Hello…? Hello…?” In vain, I try to gain her attention as she continues her inevitable descent down the ladder into my lane.
Her tiny
milky blue eyes stare past me, sunk in the pale wrinkled face. While I admire the
1940s-style white scalloped swim cap, I just want her to acknowledge the
reality of climbing into my lane. Which, actually, isn’t really a lap lane. It’s
the ‘water walking’ lane; narrow enough for a water walker or two, but two lap
swimmers? No way.
Yet, I can’t
even get her to make eye contact with me let alone respond. What is she
thinking? Is she even thinking?
She continues
to lower her square sagging hulk into my lane until most of her is submerged.
With the exception, of course, of her head. There’s no way she’s going to put
her head underwater. She’s the type. Old people with no awareness of the
others around them. They just climb in and go.
“Did she have
a conversation with you?” one of the lifeguards hollers at me, shaking his
head.
“Nope. I
tried. Is there a lane over in the shallow pool?”
“Yes, lanes 14 and 15 are open
if you don’t mind swimming in the shallow water.”
“Don’t mind
at all,” I answer, trying to get past oblivious woman in order to climb up the
ladder.
As I exit the lane, I look back at her, now floating on her back, flapping her arms, her square bulk taking up the entire narrow lane.
I make a face
at her as I walk past, sticking my tongue out and wrinkling my nose, dripping
and pissed off. Why am I the one to move? Why didn’t she just go over to the shallow
pool and flail around there?
All of this
happened because, at the Plunge, the Masters of Disasters swim team take over
the deep pool promptly at noon. Their aggressive energy demands that everyone
move out of their 4 designated lanes NOW! I know this is the routine, which is
why I didn’t start in one of their lanes. I purposely got into the end lane. I
even asked the Pool Manager, the-always-on- it, Paula Cooper, if it was okay
for me to swim in this water walking lane as long as I moved for any water walkers.
“Sure, it’s
fine, but just don’t do the backstroke,” she told me.
“Why?” I asked.
“You can’t
see the ladder.”
Obviously,
I could see the ladder when Oblivious Woman got in. And she was no water
walker, just an old lady with apparently no perception of what she was getting
into.
How does
this happen? Is she on drugs? Does she have some sort of brain situation that prevents
her from speaking or understanding if someone is speaking to her? Does she not
speak English? Was I not speaking English? Or is she just rude and doesn’t give a shit if
she pushes someone out of their lane?
Who knows.
I finish the rest of my swim in the shallow pool. Harp Woman asks to share my lane. She asks! “Of course,” I say, giving her the thumbs up.
Later in
the locker room, I see Oblivious Snail Woman. She’s just as slow and clueless on
land, as I watch her sit on the wide bench, slowly drying off one foot before
slipping on her ugly black old lady clomper shoe. I consider for a moment ‘schooling’ her on
lane etiquette. But think, what’s the point? She probably wouldn’t even
remember me, let alone the fact that she got into my lane without telling me
first. Besides, was I the Lane Etiquette Instructor?
I think
not!
I wrap up
my wet suit, cap, and goggles and stuff them into my swim bag. She’s doing the turtle walk in front of me.
Again, blocking my progress.
We both
emerge from The Plunge into the cool spring air. There’s a soft breeze blowing and
the orange poppies are waving hi with their bright perky petals.
Oblivion
Woman slowly slowly slowly heads down the sidewalk. Part of me wants to feel
sorry for her. Who wants to be a slow oblivious old lady? It’ll happen to me
one day too.
Yet, I can
never see myself getting into someone’s lane without talking to them first.
No matter how
old I am!
