CHEATER CRY BABY

“Have you heard about Mark Spitz’....” Sandy stops herself in mid-question, shaking her head, laughing.... “I mean Michael Phelps’ Pressure Chamber?”

“No,” Penelope grins, “I haven’t. What’s that?”

“It’s this chamber that he goes into to simulate very high altitudes. Like the Swiss Alps and such.”


“Isn’t that Cheating?” DL asks, sitting up from her usual prone position in Utopia.
“One would think,” Sandy continues. “But evidently not.”
“How does it work?” Penelope asks, thinking of course DL is right. Stupid Michael Phelps is a Cheater. His lungs are not his own but instead are some monstrosity by-product of a torturous pressure chamber.

“He goes into this chamber, and like I said, it simulates very high altitudes, and practices breathing very thin air. It must increase his lung capacity. That way when he’s swimming, he can use this increased lung capacity in order to have an edge over his competitors.”

“Sounds like Cheating to me,” DL nods.
“Yeah, me too. How is that fair? Do other swimmers have access to such devices?”
”He’s been able to keep it under wraps. In other words, he doesn’t advertise it.”
“Yet you know about it.”

“True, true....” Sandy grins, pleased. “But you bring up a good point about its fairness, DL. I hadn’t thought of that.”
DL lies back down on the bench, sighing. “It does seem like an unfair advantage. I wonder how much such a chamber costs?”

“Precisely,” Sandy nods. “He’s got the capital to purchase either the chamber itself or buy the time he needs to spend in it.”

Swimming Class Situation, Penelope thinks to herself. Phelps must have millions of dollars to his name at this point in his career. What with those 20 some odd Olympic medals, he’s set for life.

So, why, when he loses a race, is he such a Big Baby Head? (Penelope owes this title to her sister, Snart)

Cuz that’s what he is when he loses. When he came in 4th in the 400 IM and Andrea came running up to him, shoving the microphone in his face, he could barely speak to her. “What happened out there Michael?”

“I dunno....I.....” Michael shakes his head, stunned.

Penelope thinks this must be it. He’s just not used to not making all of his Goals.

After his last race, the 4X100 IM, where he'd won Gold with the help of his teammates, Bob Costas asks him if he’d reached all of his goals.

“I know you came to these games with a very specific set of goals in mind,” Costa jabs. “I’m just wondering, did you meet all of those Goals?”
Phelps shakes his head, laughing, “The goals were met.”

“But did you meet all of the goals that you set at the onset?”
Phelps gives him a steely look, “All of the goals were met.”
He won’t answer the question about what exactly the goals were. i.e.: to win 4 gold and 3 silver? Or to win 7 gold ? Or....?

And Penelope has to wonder if Phelps’ brain was maybe pressurized too much in that Swiss Alps Chamber. Wouldn’t that lack of oxygen affect the brain too?

So much so that the articulation of goals eludes one?


Nah, Phelps is just being a Cagey Asshole.

Penelope is so glad he’s retiring. Give someone else a chance to shine in the next swimming Olympics.

Someone cool, a woman, like say, Missy Franklin!

She doesn’t need a Pressure Chamber to increase her lung capacity. Her lungs are all natural. You can just tell, don’t you think?

Go Missy.
Good-bye Michael.

And never forget Mark Spitz.

THE POOL IS SO POLITICAL (cont.)

Part II


“We have good news for you....”
PP waits on the other side of the phone for good news? About the Geo?
“Congratulations! Your car passed smog.”
“You’re kiddin?” PP jumps up and down in front of her big sunny window, barely able to contain herself. The Geo passed smog? With the Check Engine light on?
Good News Auto Boy continues to explain just how this happened. PP doesn’t care. She’s just so relieved. The Geo passed smog. She can go pick the car up. Mail in the registration.

And go to the pool.


So, when she floated out on deck for the 4:30 to 7:30 Lap Swim (yes, this is what the schedule said), she was on Cloud 9. Or 10 or 11.

So so so happy to have the Geo pass Smog and not have to worry about it for another two years.

Yet, there was a tiny voice inside that nagged her. Why aren’t the lane lines in for the entire pool? she wondered. What if there’s a repeat of Pool Pandemonium from Tuesday with Attitude Bitches, Chicken Lifeguards and .....

PP’s Pool PTSD was rising in spite of reassurances to herself that this was Lap Swim time. Till 7:30. No such untoward situations should arise.

But yet....

As she hopped into the pool, she couldn’t quite shake her uneasiness. In spite of her Elation around the Geo. In spite of the present peace that prevailed.

It happened.

Slowly at first. She noted a small family. Mom, Dad and kid. Mom wearing her Hijab in the pool, climbed in first. Giggling as her clothes became saturated, she slowly started walking down the non-lane lined side of the pool.

Not lap swimmer was she. (PP had every confidence that no way could Mom do 20 laps.)
Then Dad climbed in while the kid just raced back and forth on the deck, from the equipment storage unit to the side of the pool, handing his parents kickboards, pull buoys, and floaty units. Laughing, screaming and running (Hey, wasn’t there ‘no running’ on deck?)

Okay, she thought. Maybe the kid was just gonna hang out on the deck while the parents did their ‘laps.’

Nope.
After all the equipment had been procured, the kid jumped in, screeching on cue.

PP stopped swimming her laps in mid-lane. Glances up at the Clueless Lifeguard who’s sitting dully on her stand.
“Excuse me” PP calls to her. “But isn’t it Lap Swim right now?”
Clueless stares at her, her look saying what? Huh? It’s Lap Swim? Was it only perplexity? Or was it stupidity? Or even fear?

She doesn’t answer PP but goes and gets her co-worker, a Guy, of course, who stands over PP, arrogance oozing out of his tattoos.

“It’s Lap Swim now, right?” PP repeats. “There’s not supposed to be families in the pool till 7:30. (It was 5:30 at this time)
Arrogance Tattoo Guard shakes his head. “There’s not a lot of people here. She (Clueless Guard) didn’t know. You’ve got your own lane.”

PP starts to shake, standing in the water. And it’s not from the cold. “The fact that I have my own lane, at least for now, is beside the point. The schedule says it’s Lap Swimming and so therefore, everyone should be swimming laps, and no kids are allowed. I plan my entire day around this schedule. I don’t understand why you don’t honor the schedule. What’s the point of having a schedule if you don’t adhere to it?”

“Hey, Lady. Chill out!” Nosy Walker Man stops in the lane next to PP to admonish her for her unreasonableness, shaking a scrawny finger in her face. It takes every ounce of PP’s control not to yell, “Fuck you!” But she refrains, knows when she’s being ganged up on.

And the fact that it’s two men against one woman does not escape her notice.

ATG continues, empowered by Nosy Walker Man’s support? “The Lifeguard has the authority to make changes to the schedule. When there’s not a lot of swimmers swimming laps then it’s up to the Lifeguard’s discretion to let in rec swimmers. If you read the fine print, you’ll see that.”

“Are you Fucking For REAL?” PP wants to scream this, but again, doesn’t. Why not?
At this point, she’s afraid that she’s going to be kicked out of the pool for causing a disturbance. Even though she’s right.

Because, no way does it say anywhere on the schedule that Lifeguards have the Authority to make Capricious changes to the Lap Swimming hours. She did check later.


Later she’d told this story to the Lovely I, who’d been suitably incensed. “What is it with Young Pricks treating middle aged women like this?” She proceeded to share her own such experience with a YP at her camera store treating her like she didn’t know what she was talking about, how she was making up the problem, the general tone being, Lady you are a pain and you don’t matter and we’re not gonna listen to you and what are you gonna do about it?

And that’s just it.

There’s nothing that PP could do about this Pool Situation at this point, but back away. Still shaking, she dove under the water, swimming as hard as she could to get away from Young Prick.


Being a middle-aged woman is hard enough what with your loss of estrogen, youth and sex appeal. And this is precisely why, PP thinks, that middle-aged women get treated like they’re invisible. Because they are.

Sure she’d heard this before—it seems so cliché and dramatic.
Yet, in fact, her experience this week proved the cliché to be true.

And so, she did finish her swim, but her shaking didn’t stop until she got out, stood under the shower, and then lay down in the sauna for a good long while.

She was hot now. And more than a little bothered.

Chill out?

PP has a long way to go before she’ll ‘chill out.’

Young Pricks beware. Esp. if she can prevail upon the Lovely I to join her at Hilltopia.

THE POOL IS SO POLITICAL

Part I.

“It used to be that you had to be able to swim 20 laps in order to be allowed in the lap lanes.”

Super Swimmer 8:30 Man shakes his head, then grins. “I remember when I used to bring my son here.....they wouldn’t let him in the lap lanes cuz he couldn’t swim the 20 laps. Later, of course,” he chuckles, “he could out swim me....”

PP nods, intently interested, “That’s very interesting. Evidently, that rule no longer applies.”

She’d been telling him about her unbelievably hellacious experience earlier that evening. How’d she’d arrived and all the lap lanes were full. Not with lap swimmers, but goddamn rec swimmers lolling about. Floating on kick-boards. Flailing with bar bells. Giving swim lessons.

“I’m just giving her a swim lesson,” one self-righteous Pool Cow had harrumphed at PP when PP had tried to explain to her that in order to be in the lap lanes, she and her two friends needed to swim laps, translation, up and down and up and down and up and down the lane without stopping. Hence the name, “Lap Lanes.” PP hadn’t included this last snide obviousness, but it had been on the tip of her tongue.
PP had actually had to stop in the middle of the lane; she couldn’t swim any farther cuz the ‘swim lesson’ was blocking the lane. Signaled dramatically to the lifeguard. Who completely ignored her.

Fortunately, another Lifeguard was on it. Nodded to her, “I’ll just try to get them all in the same lane.”

Yes, the swim lesson group was taking up 2 of the 3 lanes. He asked them to move. They ignored him. “Hablo Espanol?” he tried.

“Hey! I speak English!” Swim Instructor Cow hollered back at him. “I was born in this country.”

Shit, PP thinks, now it’s become a political matter to get the stupid cows to move outta the lap lanes.

PP tried to talk to one of the swim ‘students’. “You need to move out of this lane,” she insisted. Swim Student looked right through her. Maybe she wasn’t born in this country? Maybe she didn’t speak English?

Maybe PP was gonna slap her if she didn’t get out of the lap lane pronto!

Fortunately, Native English Speaker Teacher finally did. Lumbering slowly under the lane line and into the next lane with the Teacher.

Relieved, PP started to swim down the lane and then back again. A Real Swimmer asks if he can share her lane. “Sure,” she nods, actually relieved to share a lane with someone that knows how to swim laps.

She swims a few hundred yards, thinking the worst is over. Till, damn. Two Lolling Girls on kick-boards had now entered her lane and were floating right in front of her. PP almost considers running into them, but thinks better of it. She’s into confrontation at this point, but not of the physical nature.

“Excuse me,” she seethes, “You need to swim laps here.”

One of the Kick-board Girls gives her a look like PP is a piece of cat shit floating in the pool. “I AM swimming laps,” she stares into PP, daring her to contradict her.

PP does.

“The hell you are,” she shouts.

Kick-board Girl shrugs and starts to float down the lane in front of PP, blocking her swim completely.
Damn. What the hell was she gonna do?
She waves at the Lifeguard now.
He completely ignores her.
She stands in the middle of the pool, slapping the water in frustration, seething at the injustice of it all.

She is invisible.

Why the hell do they even have lap lanes if the lifeguards aren’t going to enforce the practice of swimming laps in them?

Shit.

Miraculously, the lane next to PP empties out. She pops under the lane line and starts swimming furiously, leaving Kick-board Bitch to float along, swimming ‘laps.”

Later, when PP tells Super Swimmer 8:30 Man about all of this and he tells her about the 20 lap rule, she can’t believe that she even got a swim in.

When she tells him about how the Lifeguard was completely unresponsive to the point of ignoring her pleas, SS 8:30 grins broadly when she pointed out the guard. “Oh, that guy? He’s a Chicken.”

PP laughs. Yup, this is so true. He is a ‘Chicken.”
And when she’d told him about the bitches on the kick-boards, he nods, “They give you Attitude, right?”
“Right.”
“Yeah, I’ve had that happen to me too.”

This made PP feel a little better. Sometimes she thinks she gets treated the way she does because she’s a petite middle-aged white woman: Attitude Girls can have their way with her. Not that it was OK for them to give SS 8:30 Man Attitude too. It was just somehow reassuring that it wasn’t just her. They behaved like they owned the pool with everyone, middle aged white women, fit Asian Men, Goddamn Chicken Lifeguards.

It was an equal opportunity Attitude Blanket in the pool at Hilltopia.

At least PP got a swim in. This night. Tuesday.

Friday, was another story.....

Manhattans & Frank

“How’s your summer goin, Sandy?” PP asks as she settles onto her favorite top corner.

It’s late at Utopia. DL and PP have just entered into its heated sanctuary. Ahhh....quiet. At last.....

“I’m enjoying the long evenings,” Sandy sighs, satisfied and relaxed. Unlike PP. She’s just survived, and yes that’s the only verb for it, what might be the Most Mayhem Swim of the summer. So far. Usually, Oaktown’s lap swimming was an issue, but tonight, the ‘family swim’ had been Pure Pandemonium. 1000’s of small screaming children splashing, flailing, screeching, their parents encouraging such obnoxiousness in wild abandon.

“Yeah, they’re so nice...” DL agrees wistfully, lying down and sighing.
“Well, at least there’s something nice about summer!” PP jokes.
“What do you mean?” Sandy’s alert now. How could there possibly be anything bad about summer? And usually PP would agree. Till she tried to swim tonight.

“The pool,” PP answers, shaking her head. “What I don’t understand is all the little little kids in the pool at fucking 9:30 at night. Hell, when we were that age, we were in bed by 9:00 even it were light out.”

“I hear you there!” Sandy snorts. “That wraps my panties up into a wad too! We were always in bed early, even in the summer.”
“Yeah, I mean, I hated it, but.....”

“Our parents had their priorities straight. Put the kids to bed and mix up the Manhattans.”

PP and DL crack up.

“Yeah,” PP agrees, “I mean, I don’t think my parents drank Manhattans, I think it was some brown alcohol, like J&B or Cutty Sark ---at least those are the bottles I remember.”

Sandy nods, “It was a different time. My parents would invite their friends over, usually other couples, and they’d pour the Manhattans and the party would start.”

”Put on the Frank Sinatra and dance!” PP laughs, remembering how Frank permeated her childhood: My Way; Fly Me to the Moon; I Get a Kick Out of You.


She grins as the lyrics float into her consciousness:

I get no kick from champagne.
Mere alcohol doesn’t thrill me at all
So tell me why should it be true?
That I get a kick outta you!

It definitely was a different time. What did parents listen to now? PP had no clue. She was so far removed from the music of Oakland families. Maybe they just came to the pool. Well, obviously, half of Oakland did at least! And while, PP is all for kids swimming, hell she was a kid once who adored swimming with her family, she didn’t do it at 9:30 at night when she was 5 years old.

Nope. When she was 5 years old at 9 p.m. on a summer night, she and her sisters would lie in bed, the light still filtering through the drapes, the sounds of kick the can and random shrieks echoing from outside.

And Frank.
Always Frank.


Fly me to the moon
Let me swing among those stars
Let me see what spring is like On Jupiter and Mars

In other words, hold my hand
In other words, baby, kiss me






PP could use a dose of Frank right about now.
Maybe when she gets home, she’ll get him out, put him on, and do just a little dance.....
For summer.

That Video

“Hey, PP, did you get a chance to watch That Video I was telling you about?”

Dropping the paper towel into the trash, Gladys (aka Friendly Asian Water Walker) showers PP with a warm happy face.

Laughing softy, PP shakes her head as she rolls her suit up in her yellow towel and gathers up her lotions from the bathroom sink. “No, not yet. Glad you reminded me.”

It comes back to PP immediately. The Video. The first time Gladys told her about it, PP had just walked out on the pool deck, gritting her teeth as she surveyed the Mayhem swim lesson scene floating before her.

One lane actually had a sign posted in front of it, 'Lesson in Progress', where the usual little boy in Hawaiian print trunks was diving for plastic rings with his young, patient teacher in tow. Dad, for some reason this day, was following the two of them up and down the lane, mask and wet suit on, not swimming or talking. Just watching? This is what parents do, PP knows, but it added yet another body to the already crowded pool.

The usual kids section was full of adults, well, maybe not full, but for Hilltopia, having a cluster of 5 or 6 adults flailing about in half the pool was annoying. Not as annoying as a pool full of screaming children, but the mere fact that the pool wasn’t just for ‘lap swimming’ when this is what was posted on the schedule....

Well, you’ve all heard her whine about this before.

So, when Gladys waved a cheery ‘Hi PP!” from the walking lane and then started babbling to PP about some video on Comcast about "a ... that....cat... reporter....." well, PP couldn’t really hear her. She had her earplugs in on top of being distracted by the mayhem. And so, she didn’t even try to understand all that the video was about.

Today, then, when Gladys asked her again, PP assured her that she’d check it out. “I think you’ll really enjoy it,” Gladys enthused, grinning as she bent to unpack her large gym bag.

“What was it called again?” PP asks.

Gladys frowns, pausing for a moment. “Something like Cat Starved for Attention Climbs on Reporter”.’ She giggles. “It’s on Comcast. Do you get Comcast?”
PP shakes her head.
“Oh, yeah, that’s right. You said that yesterday.”
“Can I see it on You Tube?”
“Oh, probably. Yeah. You could check You Tube. Do you like animals?”
“Sure.”


“Well, there’s this video on You Tube about a Beluga.”
“What’s that?”
She grins at PP in amazement. “You don’t know what a Beluga is?”
“Uh, no....”

“It’s one of those whales with the big white foreheads shaped like this....” She makes a sweeping motion over her dark head.

“Oh, yeah. Of course, I know what you’re talking about,” PP laughs.

“I knew you did. Anyway there was a baby one up in Alaska and someone an Animal Rescue Person saw it swimming around and around frantically without its mom and so they called in some help and were able to capture it and save it. They even had to call in a Needle Natal Expert no....not that Neo Natal... That's hard to say!” She starts giggling uncontrollably. "Oh, you know what I mean!"

“Yeah, I do," PP grins, trying to dispel her embarrassment over the Neo Tongue Twister. "That's lucky for the baby whale. So cute.... Did you see the front page of the Chronicle’s Book Review today?”

She shakes her head no.

“Well, there’s a new book out, I can’t remember the name, but it’s about a baby Monk Seal that was rescued from abusive parents in Oahu and how this woman, a marine biologist..... Terrie Williams, I think was her name, brought it to her situation in Santa Cruz and wrote a book about it. So cute.”
“That is cute,” Gladys agrees. “The book review?” she then asks, puzzled. “You mean inside the Insight?”
“Yeah, that’s it.”

PP knows that many people don’t read the book review. In fact many people don’t read books at all. They just watch videos and Comcast. Nothing wrong with that.

Except there is.

Isn’t there? If no one read books then the world would be such a desolate place. Why, PP just finished reading Night Shift by Maritta Wolff. It took her to a world of ordinary desperation in Americana 1940 something. Three sisters all living their lives and losing their dreams and finding their happiness and carrying on in their own private hells.

PP never wanted it to end.

She needs this kind of escape to these other fictional worlds where her imagination can settle in and bask in this alternate universe. Without books, big novels in particular, why she’d just be.... she'd be......

Lost.

Yet, talking with Gladys this afternoon about the book review it did strike her that she probably didn’t read the book review or many books for that matter. Now why PP has this presumption she can’t really say. Gladys seems like an intelligent, thoughtful person. And she’s retired. Lots of time to read!

But yet, whenever she chats with her, it’s about what?

Sports (Did you catch the US open today?)
Traveling (Have you been to Yosemite?)
Gambling (My brother has a real problem)

Frankly this last one was by far the most interesting tidbit of chatting. Why there's a start to a novel most definitely.

And of course, it’s just pool chatter. You can’t really have an in-depth conversation with earplugs in and mayhem without.

Hell, though, what difference does it really make? If people read more, and spent less time time watching cat videos, would the world really be a better place?

Hell yeah!

Or is it the other way around? If people watched more cat videos and read less then.... PP has to admit that she can become obsessed with the cat videos on You Tube.

What did they all do before You Tube?

Read more?

Perhaps.

Today, though, PP is gonna check out the Cat Seeking Attention Video on Comcast.

That is if she can get it on You Tube.

DL's Poem

though I went to the place wherein utopia resides i did not enter the water but not because of the tides it was just the sort of evening, without my friend cj, that meant the torture machines were the only way so i spent my time at the Y on the bike watching tv with wendy nearby in her pink sweat suit waving at me all was well though it wasn't nearly the same without my dear friend cj of swimming fame! ~Denise Leto~

Pack Rat v. Hoarder

"What's the difference between a Pack Rat and a Hoarder?"

Sitting on the top shelf of Utopia, Sandy pauses, head bent, sweat dripping from her brow, then glances up at PP, "A Pack Rat knows that there's some use for an item and so won't throw it away. For example, I had this Christian Dior Jacket and it was missing the buttons and so I went to Goodwill and found myself some authentic or authentic enough buttons and sewed them on and you know now whenever I wear that Suit out, people look at me and say, "That is such a Beautiful Suit." And I just smile and nod and say, "Why thank you."

"So a hoarder would keep the suit but not find any buttons to make the suit useful?"
"You got it."




PP nods, but wonders if she really does. Get it. She’s the opposite of a Pack Rat. She throws everything away. Papers & files (she recycles these); Clothes (okay, she leaves these at the Chandler Apartments Lobby knowing that Someone will find a use for them); Books (yes, she actually dumped several boxes worth of ‘useless’ paperbacks in the blue recycling bin when last she moved, sacrilege as that is).

And sure, there are a few things that she ‘collects’—not of her choice, of course. People insist on giving her things even when she’s proclaimed a moratorium—e.g.: cat Knick Knacks, Hello Kitty stuffs, refrigerator magnets.



So, when the idea of keeping something, no matter what it is, just for the sake of keeping it, of not being able to throw it away for whatever reason, does elude her. Although she kinda gets the idea of sentimental attachments to ‘things’, esp. obvious things like a child’s toys or a dead pet’s collar—yikes! She does save these!

What the hell does that mean?

She can’t let go of all her cats? The collars symbolize a yoke to the Feline Ghost?
And these used and frayed cat collars definitely have NO use, so they’d, according to Sandy’s definition, be in the Hoarder’s category (no pun intended).





Hoarding Dead Cat collars.
What was she thinking?
Of course she gets it.

But yet, she could maybe resuscitate her reputation a little by reusing these, right?
Why couldn't Pablo use Alice's old collar and Sylvia could use Gertrude's and....

No. This would be wrong. Cats deserve their own individual collars. It's the least she can do for making them even wear the damn things. Which she has to. Cause what if they got lost and didn't have their phone numbers and ....

Hell, she better just admit it.

She's a Cat Collar Hoarder.

And proud of it.

She thinks.....

Reckless Drama

“You know, you aren’t allowed any Product in here.”

PP sets the green bottle of conditioner on the sauna bench next to her, glares at Anti Product Woman since it’s dark in the sauna and she can get away with it.

What the hell was her problem anyway?

PP had been getting a Hostile Vibe from her the moment she’d entered Hilltopia.

PP had just been lying there, minding her own post swim exhaustion business, when APW entered and sat down next to her. Too close.

Why? There was tons of room in the sauna. APW coulda sat on the other side of the sauna, far far away from PP and her Potential Product Unveiling.

But yet, no. She’s sat too close and sent out those Hostile Vibes.

Was it because PP was in her favorite spot? PP knows that everyone has a Favorite spot. She liked the top shelf corner, and that’s where she was today. Maybe this was APW’s favorite spot too and she was miffed that she couldn’t have it?

Or had APW seen PP swimming and been irked for some reason? Though PP couldn’t imagine why. Sure APW was a ‘walker’ and not a ‘swimmer’—nothing wrong with that, but maybe APW had seen PP swimming and wished she could swim too?




Or maybe APW was just a Stupid Bitch.

“I know,” PP now answered to the Product Intention Question. “I wasn’t going to use it in here. Just getting it out....” (If that’s okay with you, you stupid bitch---PP refrained form this though. Why start an altercation if it can be avoided?)

And Chevron Movie Woman musta thought the same thing since she piped in, “Yeah, you know people hang stuff all over the rails there.” She pointed vaguely to the hot stones surrounded by a little wooden fence. “Even though there’s a sign right above it that says, “Do NOT hang anything on the Rails.”

CMW laughs nervously.
“Yeah, well, there’s no sign that says anything about Product,” PP states, just for the hell of it.
“There should be!” APW snorts. “There is at other Y’s.”

Yeah, well we’re not at other Y’s are we? PP wants to answer but decides to keep silent. It’s obvious, right? No sign forbidding Product means that Product could be used, but PP knows better. She’s respectful of the other ‘sensitive’ members and scent.

Not that her Green Apple Suave Conditioner doesn’t smell terrific. In fact it might help APW if she used some. Make her smell better.

Did she smell bad?

PP couldn’t really tell. But her attitude smelled bad.

“I’m going to go see the movie Bernie for the 3:50 show. Have you seen it?” CMW pipes up, eager to steer the dialogue away from Product?




PP wonders. She’d never thought of her as someone who’s particularly sensitive to what is going on around her. She babbles about inane movies she’s seen, her various boring work scenarios at Chevron, her condo association’s imposition on her time.

Yet today, it does seem like she wants to smooth out the air. Take the tension away.

PP likes this. It’s so unexpected. And welcome.

Not that APW has any clue that this is going on. She’s sitting next to PP fuming. PP can feel the heat radiating out of her and it’s not from the sauna.

Why oh why are Social Protocols in place that prevent one from partaking of such fun provocation?

It happens on Soap Operas all the time.

Daisy barges into Phyllis’s apartment. Offering a stupid gift of a glass elephant that Phyllis just flings away, shattering it against the wall. Daisy yells about how she’s just trying to be nice. They need to get along. Phyllis hisses that Daisy is a liar and she is only trying to get into her good graces cause she’s married to Phyllis’s son. Daisy says that she loves Daniel and Phyllis just has to get used to it. Phyllis grabs Daisy and shoves her against the wall. Daisy fights back and slugs Phyllis in the gut, sending her into “Oh MY GOD OH MY GOD! What have you done? I’m going to lose the baby” convulsions, doubling up in pain, and collapsing on the shag carpet.





Daisy walks out of the apt, smug smile on her face as Phyllis continues to scream in agony begging her to call 911.

Damn!


If only PP could partake of one tenth of this kinda Reckless Drama! Why her life would be so much more exciting!

And dangerous.


CMW is babbling about how much she adores Shirley McClain even though she’s a bit older now and her old movies are more entertaining though she’s really looking forward to seeing this movie today......


APW is still seething, eying the bottle of Green Apple suspiciously. Like what does she think PP is gonna do?

PP glances over at her, and then slowly opens up the bottle of conditioner. Takes a long slow whiff, ‘Ummm....smells so good...” she coos.
“You better not use that Product in here!” APW exclaims, nostrils flaring.
“Oh, why ever not?” PP sings, squirting out a big green glob on the palm of her hand, letting small bits of it splatter onto the wooden bench, dangerously close to APW. "There's no sign saying I can't."
“I’m warning you! You better leave now or else....”
“Or else what?” PP asks sweetly, as she begins smearing the gooey green into her hair.
APW stares down at CMW, who grins up at her sheepishly. “I think it smells good.”

“ARRRGGGHHH!!!” APW cries, collapsing in stricken horror, suddenly paralyzed. She watches helplessly as PP finishes applying the goo through her hair.

Writhing pitifully on the sauna room floor, APW raises one arm, weakly, beseeching PP to take pity on her. "No product...." she whines. "....allowed...."

PP gazes at AWP for a moment, then squats down next to her, placing the open bottle of Green Apple Product on the floor beside her, too far for her to reach. Too close for her not to smell.

Waving bye-bye to CMW, PP saunters out of the the sauna, AWP’s cries echoing pitifully as she heads for the shower, a smug smile spreading over her face under her goo laden mass of Green Apple Hair.

SWEARING!!!

“FUCK! SHIT! BITCH!!!! FUCKING BITCH!!! SHIT!!!!”

PP sighs to herself. Sitting on the toilet, she can’t help but listen to Scraping Walker Woman’s Rant.

Though now since she’s in a wheelchair, PP guesses she’s Swearing Wheelchair Woman.

Damn. PP is in no mood to deal with her. She’s tired and hungry and wants to get home after a surprisingly nice swim. (“It was so nice today, wasn’t it?” a fellow swimmer had commented afterwards. “Yes, so peaceful. No screaming kids,” PP had answered.)

Now there was a Screaming Wheelchair Woman.
“SHIT! BITCH!”


Flushing the toilet, PP decides that she better go see what was the matter. She’d been hoping someone else would wander into the locker room, but nope. Where the hell was anyone when you needed her?

“FUCKING BITCH SHIT!”
PP follows the sound of the rant, around the corner to the wheelchair accessible stall.
There she is, wedged in between the toilet and the door. Was she stuck? Had she hurt herself?

“Are you okay?” PP asks.
SWW stares up at her, surprised. “Of course, I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Shit, PP swears to herself. Does swearing up a storm at the top of your lungs in a public place constitute okayness?

Evidently in SWW’s universe.

Sighing, PP tries to keep her tone calm and sympathetic. It’s hard.

“Well, I could hear you swearing from the other stalls. What’s wrong?”
“Oh, that!” SWW laughs softly, embarrassed? No, just amused. “I was just mad at her is all. I know she saw me and I said ‘Hello’ to her and she didn’t even answer me. I know she saw me. I know she did….”

Her voice trails off. She shakes her head, her naked back arched over in a permanent hunch.

“Oh,” PP smiles. Shit, is that all? She doesn’t say this. “Well, maybe she was having a bad day,” she offers.

“Oh, yeah, you’re probably right,” SWW laughs, wheeling her way out of the stall now. “She was having a bad day. But I know she saw me. I said ‘Hello’ and she just ignored me. Just walked right past me. Why did she do that?”

Her bright blue eyes pierce into PP’s demanding an explanation for another’s rudeness. It occurs to PP that this other woman may not have been in the mood to deal with SWW’s insanity today. Or maybe, as is often said and studies have been done, people with disabilities are seen as ‘invisible’—literally so. This could be it too.

But more likely, the woman was just busy, or preoccupied, or having a bad day and just didn’t respond.

And again, this is what PP proposes and then adds, “I know it’s hard when someone’s rude to you, but don’t let her spoil your day. You’re at the Y and going to the Pool and the pool is quite lovely today….”

“Oh, is it? It was nice yesterday!” SWW exclaims, distracted now.

Cuz this is what the pool can do as we all know. It can distract. It can soothe.
And today, PP is particularly glad for the Pool’s power. She understood why SWW was angry. It musta been a pretty rude encounter for her to get so upset. After all, she was so friendly and sweet to everyone, saying Hello and asking after them.

Unless she was yelling at them to stop asking her if she was okay. Which is exactly what PP had done today.

And she hadn’t been. Not really.
But now, now she was. Or seemed to be.

And this of course was all thanks to the Pool.

SWW wheels into the shower and grunts as she turns on the water, begins spraying her hunchback to ready for pool entry.

"Have a nice pool time," PP calls over to her as she heads back to her locker.
"Oh, I will. Thank you. You have a very nice figure, you know? I used to have a nice one but since the accident I....."

Lady Bits

“Is this Somebody’s?” PP points to a disgusting, flesh colored Brassiere (and yes it’s a brassiere and not a bra) lying cup up on the top bench of Utopia.

The sauna’s crowded tonight. Two women who were sitting next to the Brassiere have moved over to make room for PP, but then there’s the issue of what to do with the disgusting piece of lingerie.

They all laugh, shaking their heads.

“I mean,” PP joins in, “I know it’s Somebody’s, but is it anybody’s here?”
“Nope,” Turquoise Bead Necklace Woman shakes her head, pulling her Y issued too small white towel tighter round her own ample bosom.

And so, PP picks up The Ownerless Brassiere. Gingerly. It’s so disgusting. She doesn’t really want to touch it. Who the hell would just leave their bra lying around the sauna?

Tosses it on the next bench down below her and takes its place.

Turquoise Bead and Blond Accent Woman resume their conversation about how computers suck: “I’m just afraid if I move my laptop that I’ll lose all my information on in.” “Ummm….Yes, ma’am I hear you…..”

PP glances over at DL who’s on the opposite side of the tiny cramped heat room, trying to relax.
But there’s something amiss.

It’s the Brassiere. It’s coloring the atmosphere of Utopia in a strange unsanitary lingerie way.
The door to Utopia slams open.

Aquatopia Woman enters. PP and DL had just had a Bonding Moment over the travesty of a BART agent being fired for giving away unused tickets to a poor high school student (“He was 66? That effect his pension I would imagine? They say they doing the right thing by firing him, but then if the same thing happened to them, they’d be Crying to Mama all the way home….”)

She surveys the spot where PP is now ensconced. Stares into PP, sneers, and then looks down down at the brassier, lying ickily on the lower bench. Picks it up and glares at PP.

“I wish you hadn’t put that there. It’s all wet.”

For a split second, PP considers what to say:

“Well, I wish you hadn’t left it up here taking up the space that someone could sit in.”
Or
“I wish I hadn’t had to touch your goddamn disgusting bra.”
Or
“I wish you had a brain in your head that would tell you that it’s not appropriate to leave your goddamn bra alone in the sauna….”

But PP decides against all of the above; she's not gonna win this Bra War. Mutters a kinda surprised but also kinda surly, “Sorry.” And then shrugs.

Brassier Wish Bitch harrumphs.

“Is that your underwear on the railing there?” Turquoise Bead Woman pipes in. Thankfully.

“No. They are not!” BWB flares. It is all so offensive. Imagine! She left her Brassiere here to dry and someone had the Audacity to move it so that she could sit down!

She stomps out.

All the women in Utopia start to laugh, the group giggle growing, till they’re shaking. Turquoise Bead Woman glances over at PP, rolls her eyes.

“I don’ know ‘bout you ‘all but my mama tol me don’t go leavin your Lady Bits around. Keep your Lady Bits with you at all times. Don’t no one wanna see your Lady Bits lying around….Even if they is 46 Double D’s!!!!”

They all laugh harder.

“Thanks!” PP gasps. She’s so relieved that it wasn’t just her being a presumptive bitch moving the brassiere.

Turquoise Beads nods, “Pleaaase! She was so outta line! Guess her mama didn’ make her awares of keeping her Lady Bits to herself.”

She pulls out one of those pumice stones and starts in on her calves, rubbing rubbing rubbing in vigorous circles. PP is thankful that she’s supportive around the Bra Moving, but the Exfoliation of the Lady Cells (DL’s contribution to the story) is disgusting!

Why can’t she keep her teeny tiny Lady Bits to herself?

The bits are flying!

The little white flecks of flesh float into the cramped claustrophobic darkness. PP can’t really see them, but she can hear them.

Glances over at DL, who’s still grinning, but also eying the Exfoliation Procedure.
It is so gross.

PP is starting to feel nauseous. Needs to get outta there pronto. DL rises, weaves out the door, with PP close behind her.

They’re still laughing though. Can’t even speak as they head to the showers, "Lady Bits Lady Bits Lady Bits" still ringing in their ears.

REALLY?!

“Hi, can we circle swim please?”

He sighs audibly. They can hear it at the pools in China.

He rolls his eyes heavenwards. His eyeballs float to the ceiling, hang out for a moment, before drifting back down into their sockets.

Then he speaks, his beady beard moist and serious. “Really?” he asks.

“Really.” PP answers. “It’s not like I want to circle swim either,” she continues because, hell, no one does. Does he think she’d ask him to if it weren’t absolutely necessary? She waves at the crowded pool that is the Mayhem of the downtown Oakland Y. What the hell is going on? A Wednesday evening at 8:45. Usually she has to split a lane, but circle swim?

Rarely.

And tonight all the lanes but Really Man’s have 3 or 4 swimmers in them already.
“I can’t circle swim with him,” Really Man gestures toward Tortoise Orange Trunk Man. And yes, PP sees his point; if he’s swimming his ‘intervals’ super speedy, then TOR would be a hindrance. But that’s not her problem. Or is it?



“You need to get the lifeguard to manage the lanes. Get him out of here,” Really Man continues, boss of her.

She hates this. Who the hell is he to tell her what to do? Why the hell doesn’t he get the lifeguard over to manage the lanes himself?

But he doesn’t. Stands there staring at her. It’s up to her to action the situation.

“Excuse me, LIFEGUARD!!!??? “ she hollers. What else can she do? It’s 8:45; she only has 45 minutes before the pool closes. If she sits here arguing with Really Man any longer, she won’t get her swim in.

It’s a lifeguard she hasn’t seen before. Where’s Perky Russian Guard when you need her?

This lifeguard slowly slowly slowly climbs down from her Tower. She is so bothered.
And it’s PP’s fault that she must answer to her summons. Sauntering over, she stares at PP through her wire rimmed glasses, supremely bored.

“We need help with managing the lanes,” PP starts, pointing at Tortoise Orange Trunks. “He needs to be in a slower lane so that we can circle swim here at all the medium speed.”

Bored Guard nods and to her credit does shift swimmers around. A Super Swimmer Guy comes up behind her. She motions for him to join PP’s and Really Man’s lane.
PP climbs in, Really Man watches her. He is so ickee. But she has no choice but to swim in his lane.




Really Man starts and stops. He waits at the wall for her. Staring, motioning her to go ahead. Hell, why couldn’t he have just done this with Tortoise Man? What was such a big deal that he had to command PP to commandeer the lifeguard for lane management?

Obviously, it had been all about The Power. PP really hates this. She tells DL about it afterward, who shakes her head and confirms PP’s seething about being bossed around by some guy. “I hate that!” DL had announced to all the bubbles in the hot tub.

They both laugh. But PP thinks she shouldn’t have done Really Man’s bidding. Esp. when he wasn’t even swimming with the other swimmers—that starting and stopping annoying thing that interrupted everyone’s flow—but again, she thinks this was a Power Thing.

Why couldn’t he be more liked Super Speedy Man? Who was sweet and cute and very accommodating.

Such a contrast to Really Man.

PP hopes that she never sees or swims with Really Man ever again.
But if she does?

She’s gonna make sure she swims REALLY slow. And blocks his way. And waits at the wall and then right when he comes to make his turn, she’ll take off in front of him….
That would be so damn fun.




Really.

Only in Berkeley

“How ya gonna keep your book dry?” She chuckles good-naturedly, almost winks at PP.

They’d shared a lane together. Have already exchanged pleasantries about how pleasant the other one is in the water: “I like swimming with you,” Good Natured had said when she’d climbed into the tub, PP already basking in the heat needed waters.

“You don’t splash.” PP had made the same reciprocal compliment, with GN saying how she’d been in the pool the other day and this man was splashing so much that another woman had actually gotten out of the pool. “I try to be considerate. Not splash,” she laughs. “But like my mom used to say, if you don’t want to get splashed, stay away from the pool.”

So true, yet PP always selects the least splash-likely candidate to share a lane with. And today’s GN had been a winner.

So, now, in the tub, Book Boy barely deigns to answer the book stay dry query. He’s reading Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath after all (only in Berkeley), an endeavor that is way above chitchat in the Berkeley Y’s hot tub. (PP’s here cuz of Easter; both the Oakland and Hilltop Ys are closed.)


He peers at the two women above the quality paperback, “I can keep it dry.” PP thinks, Yeah, I bet you can. But doesn’t say this, just nods as GN starts listing Steinbeck’s entire canon. “I haven’t read that one,” she shakes her head, mystified at herself. “My favorite is In Dubious Battle. (PP loves this) But, of course, there’s, Of Mice and Men, The Winter of Our Discontent, and .....”
“I have to admit that East of Eden is my favorite,” PP interrupts. “I’m a sucker for the big soap.”



Book Boy is pointedly ignoring them at this point. As to be expected.
She laughs. “Oh, yeah, I love that one too. Have you been down to Salinas to his house? They’ve built a new museum there. It’s fabulous.”
“No, no, I haven’t.” PP shakes her head.
“You should go. It’s completely renovated. And then I remember we went up to their ranch in Fremont. Have you been there?”
“No, I didn’t know he had a ranch in Fremont.”
She nods, knowledgeably, as only Berkeleyites can do. “Yup, he and his sister used to play Lancelot and Gwenivere there.”
“Really?” PP is beyond delighted at this tidbit of Steinbecken Lore. She never knew this fact, though it made sense. Didn’t he write a book about the King Arthur? She seems to recall this, but then her brain is a bit water logged at this point so she doesn’t bring it up. GN doesn’t pause for a breath anyway.
“They took the dog there. Charlie.”
“Oh,” PP gushes. “That Travels with Charlie is really my favorite. I adore that book.”





She nods, “Yeah, I’ve heard it’s a good one. I haven’t read that one either. But he and his sister and the dog used to go up there to Fremont, play Lancelot and Gwenivere. It musta been beautiful then.”
She pauses, transported to Fremont in the days of Steinbeck’s Round Table games. PP nods. “Yes, I bet it was.”





“You Native Californian?”
PP smiles, “Kinda. I grew up here.”
“Yeah, me too, sorta. I actually was born in Brooklyn, then we moved to Penn, then to Calif, then back to NY, then to LA again. We hadda pool growing up. That was the life. Getting outta bed at 11 a.m., having your girlfriends come over, lounge around the pool all day. All the neighborhood kids would come over. Mom would bake cookies and make Kool-aid.” She sighs.




“Yup, those were the days.” she continues. “My mom was always a good sport about having all the kids over. But hey! Better to have your kids in your own back yard than running all over tarnation.”
She chuckles. PP tells her how her mom did the same. Tells of the kids that sat on the embankment above their pool, craning their necks over the fence, pining for an invite to join in the fun, till finally, PP’s mom told ‘em to come on over.
GN nods, “Well, you have a good rest of the day,” she float walks out of the tub. “Time for the Steam Room. I tell you, it’s like a Country Club here.”
PP laughs with her, watching her languid round middle-aged stroll weave around the pool to the locker room.


“We must be on the Same Path!” PP laughs as she spies GN getting dressed in the same aisle as her locker.
“I’m going to Grocery Outlet next. You headed there?” she chuckles.
“Nope, got my shopping done already.”
“Yeah, I decided to go after the Y. Otherwise, I got the cold stuff sitting in the car.”
“Yeah, my ice cream’s safe and sound in the freezer.”
“Exactly.”
PP decides this means that she likes ice cream. Even though the ensuing discussion of Edward Abbey and The Biochemical Blah Blah Blah of the Brain books belie a taste for sweets.
“So many books to read, so little time,” PP laughs through the cliché.
“But we still seem to find the time to watch TV.”
This also delights PP. So many Berkeleyites view TV as the next Anti Christ. “What do you watch on TV?” PP asks.





“Oh, I watch a lot of stuff. Lately it’s Dancing with the Stars.”
PP is beyond delight now. She loves DWTS? In Berkeley? But yet, this is what happens. These intellectuals, downing their carrot juice in mini Perrier bottles (GN had already shown PP this innovation), reading heady sciency non-fiction about the Brain, listing Steinbeck’s entire oeuvre, but yet, they still like DWTS!!!!
Only in Berkeley.
“My name’s Denise, by the way.”
PP almost keels over. Her name is Denise! How perfect is that! She’ll have to tell DL about this Berkeley Denise who adores Steinbeck, Ice Cream and DWTS.
Only in Berkeley!

The A-Word

“I hafta admit that I played the Lotto yesterday.” Friendly Asian Water Walker leans over the lane line, confidential. PP grins, considers taking out her earplugs, but still had 200 yards of warm down to complete. If she takes them out now, and tries to reinsert them later, they’ll leak. So she opts for fuzzy hearing instead.

“My mother wasn’t very happy about it.” FAWW rolls her eyes. “I’m like, MOM! It was only a dollar! But my brother…..” She leans in closer to whisper to PP, “He well…. He has a gambling problem. It’s an issue. In Taiwan.”

She pauses, thinking.

PP wonders if she’s thinking whether she should be telling family secrets in the pool. Or maybe she’s just trying to figure out how to explain her brother’s issue with gambling?
So PP nods, “It’s part of the culture, isn’t it?” she offers.
FAWW nods slowly, considering. “Yeah, you know, you’re right. It is part of the culture. But my brother. Well, it’s just that he had money and friends they take advantage, you know?”



PP isn’t sure how this connects to the gambling issue, but she’s learned to be patient when collecting stories at the pool.

“He had friends that he leant money to, and then they said they were gonna pay him back but of course they never did. You have to watch out for that. For people that take advantage of you. Like I have this friend. Well, she was a friend,” FAWW chuckles softly, shaking her head, “and she doesn’t drive and so she wanted me to take her mother shopping and when I told her, ‘No, I can’t do that,’ well, she got really mad at me and called me the A Word.”

FAWW sighs.

PP wonders what the A Word is. Asshole? Is FAWW so polite that she can’t say this word? Or again, is her refusal to ‘swear’ part of the culture? PP remembers this from all the teaching she’s done with students from Asia, Taiwan in particular, that this sort of formal politeness, this hesitancy around speaking ‘profanity’ was part of their culture.

Today, in the pool, there’s something kinda sweet and refreshing about FAWW’s refusal to say the A-Word that PP can’t help but like.

But maybe she is simply upset that her former friend called her The A-Word cuz she refused to be taken advantage of, and so she couldn’t say it?





PP decides this last possibility might be the case since FAWW seems like she’s processing the whole loss of friendship situation. So, she suggests, “Yeah, well, that’s a lot to ask someone to do, take their mom to the store. I’m sure you have better things to do with your time. But mostly you don’t need ‘so called’ friends calling you The A-Word.” PP uses her nomenclature to build rapport in the pool.

“Yeah, you’re right. I don’t need that.” She frowns, then shakes her head. Then a relieved smile breaks out. “You’re right. I do have better things to do. Though I’m retired now. Are you retired?”

PP laughs. “I wish! I’ll never retire!”

FAWW joins in the giggle. “Really? I thought maybe you were retired.”

“Nah, I’m just on a break this week, so I’ve been able to swim in the middle of the day like this.’

She nods, “It’s nice, huh? To swim at this time.”
“Yeah, it sure is.” PP glances up the empty lane, the sun shimmering through the windows, sparkling tiny diamonds on the water, puffy white clouds glancing across the blue blue sky.
“But just cuz you’re retired, doesn’t mean that you should be carting around people’s mothers. I guess people just think you have all this time to run their errands for them, right?
“You’re single right?” FAWW asks.
“Yup. So, yeah, single people get taken advantage of too.”
She nods, taking this in. “No kids?”
“No, well, I have the 3 cats.”
She chuckles. “Oh, I love cats.”
“They’re my substitute family.”
“I can’t have them though. Allergic.” FAWW sniffles, then breaks into a grin. “Well, I better let you get back to your swimming. I talk a lot! You need to finish, right? You glide so effortlessly. I am always so jealous!” She laughs, shy now.


Later, in the parking lot, FAWW comments on PP’s fluffy pink sweater, “That’s cozy.” Touches it, leaving her hand a little too long on PP’s forearm?

Or is this PP’s imagination? That the question about her being ‘single’ in the pool before was nothing, not a come on or a checking her status sort of situation at all. But just part of the general dialogue around single retired women being taken advantage of?

Yet, PP had to admit that she would be flattered. If FAWW had a bit of a crush on her. Not that she’d do anything about it. FAWW was attractive and smart, but not really PP’s type.




PP unlocks the Geo as FAWW heads over to her plush grey Toyota, pops open the trunk and starts rummaging through its contents. Climbing into the Geo, PP plops down, sighing, unwrapping a granola bar, and watches in tired happiness as three puffy white clouds drift across the blue blue sky.

It's NOT okay!

“Is there a cell phone in here?”

Her indignant stridency rang out into the sauna at Hilltopia after hearing the tell-tale sing song tone.

Of course there was a cell phone in the sauna. Isn’t there always? Amazon African American Woman had sauntered in moments before, plugged in, and settled down to some serious cell phone rap. PP hadn’t said anything. Why bother?

Plus she was blissfully tired from her long Saturday swim. She just wanted to rest and let the heat do its magic. Now there was gonna be a cell phone confrontation.
Oh, goody!

Cell Phone Police Woman was sitting up now, her pale white breasts sagging, her wrinkled belly slack. But her voice.

Nothing slack about that.

“Ummm....” Amazon murmured, gently rocking to her Cell Tunes.
“Cell phones are NOT allowed in here.”
Amazon unplugs one ear, eyes her interrogator lazily. “I been comin' here 9 years and ain’t nobody ever tol' me I can’t.”
“Well, it’s not okay. There are naked women here.”
PP’s making herself as small as possible in the dark corner next to Amazon Woman. Police Woman is on the bottom deck, facing Amazon Woman now, indignation filling the air.



Amazon doesn’t answer, but starts to put the ear plug back in.
“I’m going to call upstairs if you don’t get rid of the cell phone.”
“You go right ahead.”

PP can’t believe it. Why not just put the cell phone away? Police Woman is right. No cell phones are allowed in the sauna.
But that is exactly why she probably didn’t. Amazon Woman is a Rule Breaker. You could tell.
PP kinda likes this, but then again, kinda doesn't, hater of cell phones that she is. But the naked women part intrigues her as Police Woman rises and stalks out of the sauna to make the call.
Amazon Woman turns to PP, genuinely mystified? “You hear my music?” she asks.
PP nods. “Yeah, a little,” she answers.
“Yeah, okay, I can understand how that might be a annoying.”




“But she seemed more concerned about our being naked. Like you were gonna take pictures or something?”
Amazon doesn’t respond. Frankly PP doesn’t think she looks like the Naked Woman Camera Predator type, but guess you never know.

PP starts to gather up her stuff. Part of her wants to stay and see what happens next, but another part of her is just too tired and hungry to care.
“They’ll be right down,” Police Woman announces as she re-enters the sauna.
“You can hear my music, is that the problem?” Amazon asks politely.
“It is NOT okay to have cell phones where naked women are!” Police Woman is seething at the imbecility of it all. “You could take pictures. And then upload them on to the Internet for everyone to see!”
Amazon woman nods slowly. “Okay, yeah, I can see your concern.”
Then she plugs back in the earplug and starts to sway to her music.




PP decides that maybe she better get out before a Real Fight ensues. Not that she thinks this will happen, really.
Or could it?

Neither woman appears to want to back down. Confrontation was buzzing in the heated darkness.

PP leaves. The Internet Naked Woman Sauna Camera Possibility intrigues her. She's never heard of this. Not that it isn't possible, but it did seem just a bit far-fetched that Amazon Woman would be out to take Police Woman's naked picture and post it all of the the Internet.

On her way out, PP almost runs head into the Shy Latina who runs the front desk.
“You lookin' for the Cell Phone Culprit?”
Shy Latina stares at PP like she’s never heard anything about it, even though it seems obvious that this was her task at hand.
PP points toward the sauna. “In there. Have fun.”
Shy Latina doesn’t smile, and why should she? She’s on her way into a nasty situation.

PP heads for the toilet, but inside the stall, stands for a moment waiting to hear if anyone starts yelling.
Shy Latina comes back out after only about 10 seconds.
PP thinks it’s over and takes a seat.

“Hello! Yes! The woman on the Cell Phone is still in the sauna!” PP hears the anger and frustration ooze from the phone and under the stall. “It is NOT okay!” she repeats.

And PP agrees. It’s not okay to have a cell phone in the sauna. And it’s not okay to ignore the Shy Latina’s admonishment if in fact that is what happened.

Obviously, Shy Latina wasn’t authoritative enough to get the job done.
What would happen next?

PP wasn’t waiting around to find out as she headed to the shower to escape the ensuing battle.

One thing she could be sure of. There probably won't be any Cell Phones in the shower!