Wake Me When It’s Over

So anyways, there I was- standing in the hallway in a too small swim suit while perfect strangers, fully clothed, walked right by me and tried to make friendly conversation. Sound like a nightmare? You’d think so, but no, it was my first trip as a member of our local YMCA.

Eric decided recently that we should take advantage of their great family deal and he also decided that we should spend our inaugural visit in the pool. I think that sounds lovely, but mostly because anytime he said, “pool”, all I heard was “hot tub”. I have to dig quite a bit to find my rarely used pink swim suit and the kids’ suits as well and then off we go for a fun family day at the Y.

Now, I feel like I must say here that my suit was purchased, and last used, around the time of my older brother’s wedding. I was a size 0 then. I am not a size 0 now. Not even close.

Not close, but evidently close enough that I didn’t mind smashing myself into the suit and spending about twenty fabulous minutes in the hot tub while Eric and the kids played in the pool. After twenty minutes, I decide that I’ve had my fun and it’s time to casually head back to the family locker room and change into dry clothes and check out the workout area (not to work out, more to plan a course of action for when I do decide to work out because I’m thinking it would be nice if I could feel better about the next suit I buy than I do about the one I was currently wearing).

As I head back down the hallway, I notice that there are other families standing outside the other locker rooms waiting for their turn. I have a split second of worry that maybe some family has taken the room where my towel and clothing is kept, but shake it off.

My confidence was poorly laid. The door was locked, and when I leaned in closer, I could hear the shower running.

“Great,” I think , as I lean against the wall, “some yahoo’s taking a shower while I stand here in this silly, too small in all the wrong places swimsuit.”

I decide that perhaps they’ll be out shortly and stand there to wait. As I am waiting, about ten to fifteen different people pass by and smile, or wave, or actually try to visit.

“Oh good. The shower is finally off. Any minute now. Any. Minute.”

waiting

waiting

waiting

“What is that?” I lean in closer and hear a noise that sounds familiar but unexpected, considering my condition, “A hair dryer? Is this yahoo actually drying their hair? No! Please! No!”

I have to stop the internal rage occupying my mind to help the young lifeguard who has just approached me determine if the wet towel whacking he just received left a welt across his back.

“Looks like a sunburn, only just a small stripe of a sunburn though. Like you got sloppy with the sunscreen,” I tell him.

“Kids, what are you gonna do?” he says.

“Yeah. Kids.” I agree and smile a smile that says, “Sheesh”, as he turns to go back to the locker room where he received his beating.

My smile fades as soon as the door closes behind him and I return to my desperate pose at the door.

“What’s that?” I hear a second sound in addition to the hair dryer, “Someone else is taking a shower? What kind of family is this!? Are they mad? Don’t they have a home? I hope they have a home, because I would hate to have to feel guilty for being so mad at them if it turns out they are homeless.”

I spend a quiet moment wondering just how a family of homeless people go about bathing and determine, that for only $75 a month, the Y makes for a ideal place to clean up and get some fun family time. Good for them. These homeless people are making the best of a bad situation.

Totally unaware of the generous pardon I have just granted them, I hear the second shower taker began their turn with the dryer.

By now I am quite cold, my legs are exhausted from standing there, and I am quickly revoking my kind thoughts. I knock on the door. One. Two. I figure that two firmly placed raps on the door will give them a feeling of urgency and make them hurry it up a bit.

It is a full five minutes later before they emerge, clearly not homeless types. In fact, I suspect that they actually went home and showered again. I think this was just their preliminary shower to tide them over until they could go home for a detailed exfoliation and scrub.

I took a few valuable lessons from this experience. 1) ALWAYS try on your swimsuit before tossing it into your bag. Never assume it fits like it did the last time you wore it. 2) It is better to split the family up and use the always available, gendered segregated, lockers. 3) When purchasing a swimsuit, there is no shame in reverted to the 1800′s.