"yes. lemme speak to the manager."
"i am the manager."
"well then." long pause."you should know... there was a person today in my lane who was going too slow-"
she spat person as if she was referring to a slimy bottom-feeder.
"i'm sorry, ma'am. there are signs in front of each lane that indicate the speed of the swimmers and i can talk to the head lifeguard-"
"nonono. you. don't. understand. every single day, this person swims in my lane, and every single day, he swims too slow. when i arrive, he takes off his fins and starts doing breaststroke. just to get in my way! he does it onlywhenheseesme. he does it just to annoy me. then the pool temperature drops to 72- which is wayyy too cold, especially in los angeles, goodness!- and it begins to thunder and lightning and you close the pool. every single time i come you close the pool. and the locker room is too hot, the soap is out, and the parking meters are broken. every single time i come. it's all done on purpose-"
how right she was. every time i see her walk in, i summon up my godly powers and bring about all possible miseries.
sigh. after a day of pool patron placating, it is clearer than ever that you need una poca di grazia to do more than dance la bamba.
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