There is a certain convenience to having a community pool. You get to know your neighbors, there are lifeguards, and it is close to home. However, there are still rules. Usually simple rules – don’t run, be safe, and don’t poop in the pool.
Let’s set the scene: I was at the pool with The Boy having a grand time. The lifeguards begin the chorus of whistles which means that it is time for adult swim. Now the cool caveat to that is there is a kiddie pool that remains open during the big pool break.
And that kiddie pool is where our adventure took place.
My son had made friends with two girls and he was happily splashing and playing in said pool with said friends. Trying not to be an overbearing parent, I sat myself down close to the pool but not right on the edge. After having been in the pool with my son, catching him from jumps into the pool, going underwater, catching him more, tossing him, etc – I was tired.
As any parent knows, even when we rest we are still “on”, our spidey sense doesn’t stop tingling just because of fatigue. I could hear my son playing. The girls had somehow acquired a small plastic net along with a number of small plastic fish. The trio were pretending to fish, tossing the fish into the shallow water and catching them again in the net. This was repeated multiple times accompanied by giggles and feigned astonishment. All was right in the world.
And that’s when it happened.
I didn’t see it at first, thankfully, but I heard the mom of the two girls breath differently. It was a sharp intake of air accompanied by a rushed question –
“What is that?”
The kids were unfazed. They were still playing.
“I think it is dirt,” one of the girls said with a hopeful grin.
The mom and I were both moving closer.
“Is that poop?’ the mom inquired already knowing the answer.
My gaze crept, as I did, closer to the pool and the edge of the water that was blocked by the wall. When I was finally able to see the netting in full view, I noticed what looked like an oddly shaped ball colored with a range of brown hues swirled together (spanning the spectrum from fudge to mocha cream delight) nestled in the bottom of the net.
“Yep, that is poop,” was all I could muster as my Spidey Senses rang at the four alarm level.
“Everyone get out of the pool,” was the next thing I could utter.
During our inspection, a lifeguard had trickled over and heard our discovery in real time. I felt bad for him. He walked over to the lifeguard hut, somewhat defeated, and created a handwritten sign announcing that the kiddie pool was closed.
“This is the third time this summer! I don’t understand why someone would do this and then leave it. How long has it been in there?”
He was aghast and apologetic. I imagine that it must be par for the course. What’s interesting is that it couldn’t have come from any of the occupants of the pool. Honestly, the scoop of poop was too big and too well, umm, formed to have fallen through a bathing suit. Whatever child had done this had to have had help from the outside, or actually dropped trou to drop the proverbial kids off in the literal pool. How it happened is still a mystery to me.
In the meantime, my DNA replicant, sadly dipped his chin to his chest and bemoaned our exile from the fun little pool. I tried to explain that the pool needed to be cleaned, and they had to add chemicals, and that it wasn’t healthy.
Instead, all I could do was pat him on the back, escort him out of the restricted bio hazard area and wisely state, “Well, Buddy, it’s all fun and games until somebody poops in the pool.”