Because of our leisurely pace down the state, the hour hand was stalking five before we made our way to the pool. As a person who likes the thermometer to hover around a crisp 92°, I opted for a book and a lounge chair instead of a dip in what I considered to be glacial waters. The other three tossed flip flops and beach bags my way and then struck out for the lazy river. Teena rejoined me half an hour later while the other two diehards persevered.
The loud-speaker announcement came while I was pondering the enigma of overweight European men in Speedos and my sister was flipping through Good Housekeeping. “Will everyone please exit the lazy river and pool area? We need to perform an unscheduled cleaning, which will take approximately one hour. We will announce when the pool reopens.”
Teena lowered her magazine. “That’s odd.”
“I bet some kid up-chucked in the pool. You just can’t trust a three year old.” We watched as people crawled out of the waters en masse, almost as if there had been a Jaws sighting by the waterslide. Moments later we spotted Callie and Jerry talking to a couple of resort employees. Callie had her hands on her hips, and Jerry’s hand movements said he was telling a story.
“Wonder what’s going on there?” Teena tossed her magazine aside and sauntered over. She could only get so close, however, because the lazy river separated her from her loved ones. Try as she might, she could neither hear nor talk to them, only witness their lives across the turbulent, and now fetid, waters. Throw in a cocker spaniel and a debilitating disease, and we’d have a Hallmark movie on our hands.
Teena walked back over and shrugged her shoulders. “Can’t tell what’s going on. We’ll just have to wait for them to cross a couple of bridges.” Prophecy fulfilled, they rounded the corner.
“Well, this is just great!” Callie leaned over and snatched a towel from our stash. “What a fabulous way to start our vacation!” She started rubbing with enough vigor to hit bone in twenty seconds flat. We looked at Jerry.
“Somebody took a crap in the pool.”
“Ask me how I know!” Callie charged in without losing an ounce of towel momentum to verbal activity. “I was the one who stepped on it! Squish, right between my toes! We were walking and swimming the river, and there it was, just rolling around on the bottom.” She halted the fabric cleansing and looked around for something more aggressive, such as a Brillo pad or maybe a machete. Being the adorable little germaphobe she is, I knew those top three layers of skin were history. Her leg would be lucky if she stopped exfoliation at the knee.
I shook my head. “Like I told Teena earlier, you just can’t trust small children.”
“Oh, this didn’t belong to a baby,” Jerry clarified. “No, sir. That one was manufactured by someone at least five years old. Could have even been an adult’s.”
“Yeah. We reported it to the lifeguard, and they said people do it all the time.”
“Yup. They said they had to clean the pool three times in one day last week.”
This little exchange brought me up short. It’s one thing for a Pampers to lose its grip on a toddler, but a willful action by an adult? At a luxury resort? I felt the universe tilt half an inch to the left.
Teena was also having a hard time with this new dark side of humanity. “Are you sure it was . . .” and here she lowered her voice before saying something indelicate, “ . . . poo?”
“It was crap alright,” Jerry bellowed with megaphone intensity. “Once Callie dug into it with her foot, I scooped it up on one of those banana leaves so I wouldn’t have to touch it.”
“The lifeguard couldn’t believe he did that.”
“It was nothing,” Jerry said with the humility of a hero who’s just taken a very smelly one for the team.
“If you two have had your dose of E Coli for the day, maybe we should head back to the room,” I suggested.
“Yes,” Teena said, gathering towels. “You’ll need a shower.”
“And some disinfectant,” Callie added.
© 2012 – Traci Carver