Trumpers?

 

“Are they Trumpers over there? They don’t want to admit when they make a mistake?” Jess lathers up more suds as the shower pounds down on her back. The issue?

            A discrepancy in the summer pool schedule for the Richmond Swim Center. Evidently, the website says one time and the printed-out schedule says another. An hour’s difference. Which, of course, is huge when the hours are already so limited.

            “The website says that the pool will be open till 12 on Tuesdays and Thursdays,” Alice continues, dragging her big comb through her wet hair, “but the printed-out schedule says they’re only going to be open till 11.”

            “Can’t they fix that?” Jess asks?

            “You would think so,” Alice says. “But evidently the new management has their head up their asses!”

            We all crack up. And, I think, doesn’t management always have their head up their asses? I remember working at Woo Woo U under the management of Q, whose ineptitude and insanity was legendary. My colleague, J, would see her coming down the hall, juggling piles of files in her arms, car keys dangling from one hand, a cup of coffee in the other. J would whisper to me, “Look out! Her hair is on fire!”

            And it was. All red, oranges, bronzes standing atop her head, looking like the flames of hell.

            Her ineptitude running the Writing Center was beyond my credulity. A meeting with staff would devolve into actual shouting matches between instructors and Q. “I refuse to show up for a workshop at 10:00 am on a Saturday in fuckin Campbell when I have no guarantee that there will be any students there!” one of my colleagues had screeched. Q had dug her heels in. “You must show up, Dana. It’s your job!”

            Dana stood up from the table, fury steaming out of her ears and march out of the room.

            I couldn’t believe it! But then again, I could. Management is always so out of touch with the reality of what their staff, students, or patrons actually are doing or need.

            So, today, when the discrepancy about the pool schedule came up in the showers, I just shook my head, thinking, Trumpers? Maybe. I knew that Q NEVER admitted when she made a mistake or EVER changed her mind even when confronted with irrefutable evidence to the contrary of her position or directive.

            And Trump? Anyone with a brain knows that he is a lying, cheating, conniving crook. Would he admit that he made a mistake with dismantling the Dept of Education? That this is necessary to further the educational needs of students? Or that his choice of a Health Secretary in Kennedy is egregiously wrong. How can someone be in charge of the health of citizens without any medical background? Who believes that vaccines are the devil?

            Nope, Trump would never walk back any of these decisions. And these are just the tip of the iceberg as the saying goes. I could write a book about his ‘mistakes’ and still not be able to cover them all.

            So, today, when the pool schedule discrepancy arises, I am not surprised.

            This schedule’s shorter hours have been the hot topic all week. Everyone is writing letters of complaint to the management. They’re up in arms about who the management even is. It’s a revolution if such a thing could happen at the pool.

            And, yes, I too, have written a letter of protest, citing a recent non-interaction with the new pool manager when I ran into him after swimming at the Plunge this week. “Hi,” I’d smiled. He wouldn’t even make eye contact with me, let alone acknowledge me in any human way, mumbling a surly ‘hello’ before heading into the building.

            Is this guy a Trumper? Who knows. I suppose anything is possible even though this is the Bay Area and Trumpers are rare. Will the discrepancy in the pool schedule be fixed? We’ll have to wait and see.

            “It doesn’t seem like such a big deal to fix the discrepancy,” I comment to Jess after the shower as we’re throwing on our clothes.

            Shaking her head, she sighs, rolls her eyes. “No, it doesn’t. Or reverse it. Keep the schedule as it is. Not closing an hour earlier.”

            “That would be nice,” I agree. But think to myself. Would Q have reversed her decision to make her instructors drive all the way to Campbell, an hour plus drive from Unpleasant Hill campus, for a workshop that may not have any students?

            No.

            It never happened.

            And, I don’t like to be such a pessimist, but the reality is, no one in power wants to admit they made a mistake. Not Q. Not the Pool manager. And esp., not Donald Trump.

            Jess finishes dressing, calling out, “Goodbye Ladies!”

            I follow her, shrugging on my sweater and heaving my swim bag over my shoulder.

            Outside the facility, the day is windy and cold. Typical June. I spy LS at her bike and head over to chat.

            “Did you know that there’s a discrepancy between the schedule in the website and….”

            A gull screeches overhead. My wet hair blows in my face. The words tumble out.

            It’s another day at the pool.