Welcome to our ool

When I was about 6 years old, my family went on a camping trip to visit the town where my Grandma  grew up. What had promised to be a boring experience of hanging out with old people and talking about the old days was saved by the campground swimming pool. We swam every day that we stayed there. The best thing about the pool wasn’t the slide or the diving board. It was the big, prominent sign that read “Welcome to our ool. Notice there is no ‘p’ in it. Please keep it that way.” Even at 6 I thought this was hilarious.

Flash forward 27 years and I am in the local rec centre pool. (Notice there is a ‘p’ in it.) I am close to finishing my swim for the day and am taking a break at the edge of the pool. As I catch my breath, the man next to me starts clearing his nose and then spits it into the pool filter grate that runs the perimeter of the pool. I’m a little taken aback, and while I am trying to decide if I really heard and saw what I thought I did, he does it again. I dive into the situation:

“That goes back into the pool you know.”

“No it doesn’t”

“Ya. It does.”
“No. That’s not the pool.”
“Yes. That water there comes back into the pool. You spitting into that thing is the same as me spitting on you right now.”
“Don’t be stupid.”
“You do that again, and I’ll call the lifeguard over.”

Now I am not under any delusions about what is floating around in the pool. Dead skin, hair, and bodily fluids marinate together to make human waste soup. But  I was apparently under delusions about how most of that sludge got there. I am ok with hair and skin cells that come off unbeknownst to their owners. I am ok with an overexcited kid urinating in the pool. That is why the pool is chlorinated and ozonated. I am not ok with people that have a blatant disrespect for the other pool patrons and snort their mucous and spit their phlegm into the water.  I was naively under the assumption that everyone shared a basic appreciation for public hygiene and that it was common knowledge that one does not snort and spit in the pool.

The lifeguard has noticed what is going on and comes over. Snorty McSpitterson is now doing a very pathetic job of lying his way out of the situation. He has all kinds of lame excuses like “I was choking for my life.” I resist the urge to inform him that he made a very quick recovery from “choking for his life” to “lying for his pride.” I know that I’ve already wounded his pride but I don’t care. I don’t think this man is used to being challenged by a woman and it has thrown his lying off balance. He is making a very poor case for himself but continues to lie about spitting in the pool. I decide that I’ve had enough of this man and his phlegm. As I get out of the human waste soup, I resist the urge to poke the hornets’ nest one last time and tell him, “I bet your mother is very proud of you.”

The guard tries to calm me down and reason with me: “I didn’t see him do it so there isn’t really anything that I can do about it. But I’ll keep an eye on him.” Now it’s my time to be thrown off balance. How many times have I said something similar to a student who has come to complain about another student’s behaviour? How many times have I told a child on the playground, “I didn’t see little Johnny throw rocks at you. I’ll talk to him about it but, unless I actually see him do it, there isn’t much I can do.” Now I know exactly how my students feel when I give them such a non-answer.

 

Perhaps instead of being angry at Snorty McSpitterson, I should be thankful to him for the pool-side stop moment. Next time someone spits or snorts in the pool, I will deal with it differently. And next time a student complains about another student’s behaviour that I didn’t see, I will also deal with that differently.

Welcome to our Pool.