“Hi. Can I share the lane with you?”
He pauses, slowly removes the snorkel from his fleshy tan
jowls. “Uh…. I was just gonna do some backstroke. And I have a tendency to go
kinda all over the place. Why, the last time I shared a lane with someone and I
was doing backstroke, I accidently hit her in the face. I couldn’t sleep that
whole night. Would you mind waiting while I swim 4 laps?”
I stare
down at him in disbelief. First, what happened to the woman that he hit? Was
she hurt? Did he apologize? Or did he just continue on his merry way, but did
lose some sleep over his braining of her.
Second.
Dude! The proper response to someone asking to share your lane is: “Of course,
which side do you want?”
I get not
wanting to share a lane. I’m guilty of this feeling too. I’ll even go to
passive aggressive lengths (pun intended) to keep someone from asking me or
getting in the lane with me. Backstroke is an effective means of accomplishing
this. Weaving down the lane, taking up as much space as possible. Usually this makes
the lingering deck waiting possibility choose another lane.
So, to give
this guy credit, at least he knew he was a danger.
But, c’mon.
If you can’t stay to one side of the lane doing backstroke, then don’t do
backstroke!
Or, try
harder!
I’m at the Oceanside senior center pool, El Corazon, visiting my mom and sister. In fact, my mom wanted to come and ‘watch’ me swim, which I thought would be really boring, but a cute idea. The two of them were there on the deck with me joining me in disbelief at this guy’s response.
The pool
was busy. Sunday afternoon families, bikini girls, snorkel dudes like this guy.
In the lane next to him was Hat Man, floating obliviously in the center of the
lane. To the other side was String Bikini Woman, grabbing at the wall on the
far side, then heaving herself up onto the deck, holding her nose with thumb
and index finger, and tumbling into the water, flailing about, then emerging,
gasping for air.
Neither one
of these swimmers seemed like promising prospects for lane sharing, but hell if
I was gonna press Snorkel Man.
It just wasn’t
worth it.
In past years,
I might have. Told him that I wasn’t going to wait. That this was not only an unfriendly
response, but absurd as far as public pool lane sharing etiquette went. Then I would
have gotten in the lane, put on my fins, and zoomed past him.
Asshole.
But today, I
opted for Bikini Woman. Signaled to her that I was getting in the lane. She
responded right away with a friendly wave before diving under water again,
holding her nose.
My mom and sister went to sit in the shade, watching the show. Mom marveling over a toddler that kept climbing up on deck and diving back in. A real little fish.
“That was
me, right?” I asked her when she told me about him.
“Oh, yes, you
were so at home in the water. Me? I never was.”
I do love
the water. It’s where I feel the happiest. If all the variables are in
alignment: my mask doesn’t leak, my energy is good, the time allotted is
enough, and my own lane. OR, if no own lane, then someone who is nice to share
with.
Bikini
Woman turned out to be just fine. I’d turn around at the far wall, while she
stayed to her side of the lane, flailing about underwater, the pink strings of
her bikini dancing at her thighs.
After the
pool, driving home, my mom and sister commented on Snorkel Dude. “We think he must
have been an attorney or surgeon,” my mom said.
“Yeah, well,
whatever he was, he was an asshole!”
We all
laughed. “What’s for lunch?” my sister asked.
“Pizza?” my mom asked. “Can we have pizza?”
“Sure, why not,” my sister
responded. “Let’s call for delivery when we get home.”
Tired and
hungry, I settled into the warmth of the car’s back seat. Pizza did sound good.
But frankly, anything would taste good after that adventure in the pool!
