Wednesday, July 18, 2007

Close Encounters of the Chlorine Kind

When you look at my gym's pool through the windows that surround it, it looks fairly unobjectionable.  The tiles are a little worn, perhaps, but I'm fairly certain that's because the gym was built in the year 1827.  Although advertised as a 24 Hour Fitness "Sport" (with the fees to prove it), the interior is dimly lit and musty, and the only special amenities it boasts are 3 televisions with poorly-spelled closed captioning.  If you want to hear the sound, you have to tune in to a specific AM radio station.  You know, with that transistor radio you're always carrying around.

Anyway, I wouldn't have really considered exploring my gym's aquatics were it not for the fact that, as soon as summer hits, half the population of Orange County converges at my apartment complex pool.  And they don't leave until after midnight.  

I briefly considered giving up swimming for the summer, but there are only so many knee-friendly, low-impact exercises one can do.  (The other two being yoga, and sitting on the couch watching So You Think You Can Dance.)  

So I went.  And as I walked across the faded tile and slipped into the tepid water, I was pleased with myself for having made the effort.  Preparing for my first lap, I looked over to find an older man in a teensy tiny speedo settling himself onto the bench next to my lane.  Smiling, he said:

"Well, hello there!"  

"Hello."

As I completed my first lap, I had the feeling that I was being watched.  Sure enough, Mr. Speedo was still sitting on the bench, looking down at me.  At the end of Lap 2, there he was. Still staring.  Lap 3?  Still staring.  Lap 4?  Staring and grinning.  Lap 5?  Yup.  Still staring. 

It was at this point that I decided to get out.  I briefly thought of calling it a night,  but I was not about to let an old man in a tight speedo spoil my swimming plans!  So I walked over to the hot tub.  Surely he won't follow me over here, I thought.  That would be too creepy!

 As soon as I sat down, there he was.  

"Do you want me to turn on the bubbles?"

"No, not really, I . . ."

He disappeared around the corner, and the bubbles appeared.  Reappearing, he hopped down into the water.  

"So, what brings you here?"

What brings me here?  Did he really just say that?  

In my head, I responded:

"Well, I was hoping to meet an old, creepy man in a tiny speedo, so I guess today's my lucky day!"

Instead, I told him that it was time for me to go.  And I haven't been back since.  

I guess it's time to buy myself a transistor radio. 

10 comments:

Jannah said...

Emmie, when are you going to embrace your "Hot Babe"-ness and realize the efffect you have on men?
Here he was, this nice old man, just minding his own business, preparing to swim his laps or waiting for the old guy water-polo team to show up, but instead he is met by you, the hot brunette in the swimsuit!
He was probably normally a very charming man but you caught him in his SPEEDO! Now reduced to the pre-pubescent pick up lines he had seen in the movies as a boy; he HAD to try his luck, or regret it for the rest of his life!
-Just consider yourself that "talkies" came out when they did or you might have been subjected to some emotive hand gestures and indicative eye glances).

Azúcar said...

I would posit that had he engaged in Valentino type behavior she would have been more likely to at least answer his responses with a few eyelash battings.

Look, Ems, I hate to point this out, but these dirty old men need love too. Maybe you can work something out with Steve?

Emily said...

Ew, what a creeper!
I had a too close for comfort encounter poolside the other day, sad part is that it was at a church social...awkward.

Mike Thayer said...

No way Emmie, that's crazy! 5 laps!

Emmie said...

Can you tell that Mike is my little brother?

samiam said...

I had a vivid flashback of our bus driver running along in his itty-bitty speed-o (which his pot belly covered most of) and joining us in our nighttime swim in a lake somewhere in Czechoslovikia!

Blondie said...

Em-
Eeewwww! That is so creepy.

Sam-
I had successfully suppressed those images from my mind. Thanks for bringing the horror to the forefront once again!

Annette Lyon said...

Icky, icky, ewwwww!

I know, so articulate of me, huh?

cotton_in_the_medicine_bottles said...

So, I did a stint at the Courtyard Marriott on the night shift and one night this guest walked up to the front desk from the pool wearing his bright orange speedo. I can't remember what he was asking for that couldn't wait until he was clothed. In fact, there's a lot that was abruptly forced from my mind when he left the front desk revealing that the speedo was, in fact, a g-string!

And here's another question, why is there only one type of fellow who wears a speedo outside of Olympic swimming events? I mean, why can't the Hugh Jackmans of the world wear speedos and make passes in hot tubs?

Meg at night said...

I have tried really hard to forget that it was ME who bumped into our Czeck tour guide not once, but TWICE, in his speedo in the elevator! Plus, I accidentally walked into his room (while he was also wearing the speedo) because I mistook it for a different room! Thanks for reminding me of those days I've tried for years to forget! I guess I'd better head back to counseling . . .