So its 9 am, after scaring away kooky old Brands from the main gate I clean the pools and set up my stand. It’s a crappy piece of equipment, I mean the slightest movement on my seat makes the whole damn thing creak, and if there’s one thing the visitors hate it’s a noisy lifeguard, or you know, one that appears to be alive and watching over them. So half the time I’m sitting there, stone cold, frozen, watching over the damn crowd like some stinking gargoyle. What in the hell do they want anyway, you can’t tell ‘em anything. They just keep on sticking that ugly mutt of a face into the whirlpool dispensers. Hell, you could be saving them from slow drowning death and they’d still give you a kick in the sack. I mean women and bratty little kids.
So I set up my stand next to pool 1A, Vastbinder has 2A, we kinda trade pools every once in a while, he’s not too bad. Both pools look the same and have the same crowd of lowlifes; it’s just that it’s nice to at least pretend you’re having some change in your boring routines.
So after that I open the snack stands and unlock the toilets, you should see the toilets, no, you should smell them. We have a cleaning lady only she’s so old we keep her from actually doing anything since it could break her back or something. She looks 120. She’s one of those people that you always see hanging around the place eyeing people intently and scaring them away. You know, a crazy old cat lady, only she’s a pool lady. So one day the boss just gave her an apron, a broom and a paycheck and she scrubbed those crummy toilets. That was a whole while back though, she doesn’t do much scrubbing anymore but the people like her so we keep her around, she’s kinda become part of the pool now.
Anyway, so the toilets smell of vomit mixed with urine and chlorine now, that was the point I was trying to make. We remove the ceilings in autumn so the rain washes all the filth away. It barely rains in Carmon though, it’s July anyway.
Around 11 am I’m about done preparing the place for visitors and I open the gates, the ticket seller, bratty Timmy always manages to show up half an hour too late and I spend selling half of the tickets, on his damn payroll too. He’s 14 and already managing to leech on other people’s hard work.
So come in the minions and rats, ready to dive in and mingle. One ticket’s a nickel and Carmon is a mangy town. Christ I hate this job.
I’m selling for 40 minutes and here comes Timmy slobbing in all casual and yawning. “Sure Timmy, I’m great, how’s your pimple of a face doing?” Sometimes I wish I could burn the whole place down and Timmy and everyone along with it. What a sight for sore eyes that would be; a blazing inferno set against a pool filled with every lowlife in Carmon.