Taking a Dive

Every morning I have to pass through a glass enclosed corridor that connects two buildings in our office complex.  Cobwebs and a variety of little dead bugs lurk in the corners. Upon opening the door, there is a small step - no more than two inches, a minute detail, seemingly insignificant.  I believe it was my third day at a new job when I noticed that step.  Unfortunately, not until I was sprawled out ever so clumsily on the cement floor.  Thud.  Ah, yes, to take a nose dive your first week of work is a joy.

What I really noticed, though, after the initial shock and as I lay face down on the glossy grey concrete, is that this particular corridor smells exactly like the Blue Earth pool.  Whoosh.  Transported in an instant back to 1981 and a nine year old me.  Oh, the pool.  With that unmistakable smell of industrial paint and dampness, Hubba Bubba gum, chlorine and Coppertone.  (Why our office building smells like this, too, I couldn't say.) 

We'd collect a wire basket for our meager belongings and tiptoe into the locker room, the floor of which always seemed a tad slimy.  Pre-swim showers were supposedly required, so we'd poke our head under the freezing water for a split second, just enough to pass inspection in case anyone was checking.  No one ever was.  Under the metal bannister and up the stairs...we had arrived.

There was no cooler job than lifeguard, in my opinion.  Gods and Goddesses sitting there all golden brown and glistening in their elevated chairs, wielding the power of the whistle.  I was somewhat starstruck.

In the summer I essentially lived at the pool, and had a swimsuit collection to match, one for nearly every day of the week.  One started out red, then faded to barely pink after wear and tear.  It was white on top with three narrow stripes across the front.  Another was a jade green halter with some sort of drawstrings at the hip.  Possibly my favorite was a plain bronzy-brown tank.  Keep in mind that I had had an operation to place tubes in my ears in order to cure some chronic ear aches.  This required that I wear ear plugs and a swim cap in the water, leaving an obvious white stripe across my otherwise tanned forehead.  Luckily, that was before I knew enough to be self-conscious.

We would jump around giddily, complete perfect underwater handstands topped off with a gymnast's salute, dive for pennies, play tag, and actually do a little swimming.  During the hourly breaks, we'd reluctantly climb out of the water while the lifeguards took a dip.  There were always a few random adults swimming then, too, and we were never quite sure how they gained that special privilege. 

If we had any extra allowance tucked away under our towels, we'd gather it up and run/hop across the searingly hot tar of 14th Street to the Swim-Inn.  A few coins could buy you Zotz, Tootsie rolls, snow cones or chips.  We'd sit with our still dripping suits around the cedar picnic tables until the heat became unbearable on our burning rumps.  Then we'd scurry back again to the awaiting water.  At closing time, we'd ride our bikes home and get ready to do it all again the next day. 

That's all I really needed back then - a few friends, sun, some candy, and the pool.  I guess the same is still true today.  And if it took a face plant to make me remember that, so be it.