JERK OF THE WEEK NO. 1: Buck-Toothed Kid and His Dad
Six weeks ago, I talked about the Swim Lesson Brats - a bunch of kids who take swim lessons at my pool during the evening. I particularly focused on two kids: a weirdo named Melvis, and a buck-toothed, know-it-all douche.
This past Monday, I swam a mile in the pool by 9 p.m. I felt good. I normally fall short of a mile before the 9 p.m. closing time, but I was somehow able to manage to complete my goal. Also, there were no fat ladies in the pool who tried to eat me that evening. The only thing that was missing was the hot Asian lifeguard, but I guess this was a good thing, since I probably would have hurt my back again in the process of trying to get out of the pool and talk to her.
At any rate, I took off my goggles as the assistant coach of the aforementioned swim lesson program approached me. I had never talked to him before, but I quickly discovered that he had this thick Russian accent. The following exchange occurred:
Russian Assistant Coach: You can keep svim. I go take shower and zen I come back to cloze pool.
Me: I'm actually done swimming for tonight.
Russian Assistant Coach: No, iz OK. I go take shower zen I come back.
Me: I was actually just about to get out of the pool.
Russian Assistant Coach: No, no, no, keep svim.
Russian Assistant Coach: I go take shower. Svim, svim, svim.
This dude wouldn't listen to me. I finally gave up and figured that I should keep "svimming" until I hit 2,000 yards (a mile is 1,650). I guess that would make up for all of the barbeque potato chips I've eaten over the past week. NOM NOM NOM NOM.
Before pushing off the wall to "svim svim svim," I overheard Russian Assistant Coach talk to three Swim Lesson Brats who were sitting in the baby pool. Two of them were Melvis and Buck-Toothed Kid. The other was someone I like to call Fat Cross-Eyed Kid.
Russian Assistant Coach tried vehemently to get them out of the pool, but they wouldn't budge. Fortunately for him, one of the fathers of these kids (turned out to be Buck-Toothed Kid's dad) walked out of the locker room. Russian Assistant Coach ran over to him and asked him to watch the kids as he took a shower.
I didn't think anything of it. I swam the extra 350 yards. I had the pool all to myself, so it was pretty awesome. Six lanes, and no fat ladies or old, possibly dead men floating around. Pure paradise.
I completed the full 2,000, but Russian Assistant Coach was still showering in the locker room. I decided to stretch, and when I did this, I overheard the Swim Lesson Brats:
Fat Cross-Eyed Kid: Hey guyth! Do you know what the Phillieth score ith!?
Melvis: The Phillies start at 10 I think.
Buck-Toothed Kid: Melvis, you don't know what you're talking about. The Phillies were winning before our practice started.
Melvis: No, the Phillies are playing at L.A. tonight. They start at 10.
Buck-Toothed Kid: No Melvis, you're wrong.
Fat Cross-Eyed Kid: I hope the Phillieth win guyth!
Buck-Toothed Kid: The Phillies probably won already. Ryan Howard had two home runs. I saw it.
Melvis: They didn't start yet!
Buck-Toothed Kid: You don't know anything, Melvis. Dad, check the score on your phone.
Buck-Toothed Kid's Russian Dad: Eh... I do not know how to check score on phone...
Buck-Toothed Kid: Just go to the Internet button and check ESPN.
Buck-Toothed Kid's Russian Dad: Eh... I do not know what iz zis ESPN...
Buck-Toothed Kid: Just type in ESPN.com, dad.
Buck-Toothed Kid's Russian Dad: OK, OK, OK, I check score.
*** Two minutes and a lot of fidgeting around with the phone later... ***
Buck-Toothed Kid's Russian Dad: I look at score. Phillies vin, 10 to sree. Ryan Howard heeet two home run.
Buck-Toothed Kid: I told you, Melvis, you don't know anything.
Melvis: But I saw in the newspaper that they started at 10.
Buck-Toothed Kid: You were probably reading yesterday's newspaper, Melvis.
I was pretty shocked myself. I could have sworn that the Phillies game was scheduled for a 10 p.m. start. Despite Buck-Toothed Kid's Russian Dad's claim, I had a feeling that Melvis and I were right.
I changed, stopped at Subway (NOM NOM NOM NOM) and arrived home at about 9:55. I ran upstairs to check the score of the Phillies game. Lo and behold, the game hadn't even started yet. Phillies at Dodgers - 10 p.m.
I'm pretty appalled by this. Buck-Toothed Kid lied to me before, claiming that he watched Penn State and Pittsburgh play each other in football last year (they haven't played since 2000). So with that in mind, Buck-Toothed Kid's claim that he watched Ryan Howard hit two home runs that day wasn't shocking. But to see Buck-Toothed Kid's dad blatantly lie like this to defend his son's false claim was really disturbing.
But I guess as the old saying goes, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Mmm... apple... NOM NOM NOM NOM.
JERK OF THE WEEK NO. 2: Brad Childress Blowdryer Man
I'm convinced that the swim lessons at the pool are a front for some sort of drug or prostitution conglomerate. I wish I were joking.
First of all, Russian parents openly give the head coach cash during practice. Yes, I know swim lessons cost money, but can't they write a check and put it into an envelope for him? It's always cash. I've never seen a single check. I guess they don't want any sort of paper trail.
Secondly, this coach has like a billion people working for him. It should only take one person to run swim lessons for 10 kids, but that's not the case here. I already discussed Russian Assistant Coach in the previous Jerks of the Week entry. There is also another assistant coach. This guy, who is also Russian, is a pretty muscular dude who parades around everywhere in a Speedo. Whether he's in the shower, coaching kids from the pool deck or teaching a young child how to swim, he's always wearing a black speedo. Always. Again, I wish I were joking.
There are also people who work in the locker room, namely someone I like to call Brad Childress Blowdryer Man.
Brad Childress Blowdryer Man caught my attention a while ago. He was wearing a Penn State shirt, only it was purple and orange. I had never seen a purple-and-orange Penn State t-shirt before, so I found that interesting. I then looked at Brad Childress Blowdryer Man's face and noticed that he had an uncanny resemblance to Brad Childress, the head coach of the Minnesota Vikings. ESPN's Bill Simmons jokes around that Childress looks like a child molester (bald, skinny, creepy mustache), so looking like him is not a good thing.
I didn't think much past this until Wednesday night. I was getting changed in the locker room, when I noticed that Brad Childress Blowdryer man grabbed a blowdryer and approached a mirror. A naked Buck-Toothed Kid approached Brad Childress Blowdryer man and let him dry his hair. Once he was done, a naked Fat Cross-Eyed Kid went up to Brad Childress Blowdryer Man and had the same treatment done to his hair.
As this was going on, I looked at Brad Childress Blowdryer Man's face. He was smiling. In fact, he looked a little too happy. Either Brad Childress Blowdryer Man is a hair stylist, or he enjoys drying naked boys' hair. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
So, I'm starting to think that this swim lesson program isn't a drug or a prostitution conglomerate. My guess is that these people collect little boys, make them look pretty and sell them off to rich NAMBLA members. Think about it - these coaches make these kids swim and do push-ups so that they become muscular. Then, Brad Childress Blowdryer Man dolls them up afterward to make them look pretty for the horny NAMBLA weirdos.
Ugh, I just grossed myself out with that last paragraph. I'll go back to thinking that this is just a drug conglomerate.
JERK OF THE WEEK NO. 3: Not That There's Anything Wrong With That Man
As you may know, there are plenty of weirdos at my gym who are not associated with the swim lesson program/drug conglomerate. One such individual is someone I ran into about a month ago. I've decided to call him Not That There's Anything Wrong With That Man. You'll see why soon.
I went into the steam room after swimming one day in July. A short, chubby man walked in and sat down on the bench across from me. He didn't say anything at first, but as the steam died down, the following conversation ensued:
Not That There's Anything Wrong With That Man: There are no women in here.
Me: Yeah, what a shame.
Not That There's Anything Wrong With That Man: I've noticed that there are hardly any women in here anymore.
Me: You're right, though I was lucky enough to be in here with two hot girls two months ago. Unfortunately, I haven't seen them since.
Not That There's Anything Wrong With That Man: They shouldn't allow any women in here.
Me: Uhh... wait, what?
Not That There's Anything Wrong With That Man: They should have separate time slots for men and women in the steam room.
Not That There's Anything Wrong With That Man: If this were only men, we wouldn't have to wear our swim trunks!
Me: Hmm... Yeah. I'd rather have the girls in here.
What the hell? I'm anti-nakedness to begin with, but this guy wants an all-male steam room so he can sit around nude, as opposed to possibly seeing hot chicks in bikinis? Not that there's anything wrong with that...
Upon hearing this, I decided that it was time to leave the steam room. Unfortunately, Not That There's Anything Wrong With That Man followed me out. I went to get my bag, and he conveniently walked to a locker that was close to my stuff.
I guess he noticed that I grabbed a towel to dry myself off because he started talking to me again:
Not That There's Anything Wrong With That Man: You're not going to take a shower?
Me: Nah, I'm going to shower at home.
*** Once again, I refuse to get completely naked and take showers in a public locker room. I will never do this. Never! ***
Not That There's Anything Wrong With That Man: Are you sure?
Me: Yeah, I don't even have shampoo anyway.
Not That There's Anything Wrong With That Man: You can use my shampoo.
Me: Meh, well I don't have soap either.
Not That There's Anything Wrong With That Man: You can use my soap!
Me: Yeah, I think I'm going to pass on that.
Gross! You don't let another man use your soap. Not that there's anything wrong with that, of course.
I continued to dry myself off and grabbed my shirt. Not That There's Anything Wrong With That Man stared down at the floor with a sad expression on his face. I seriously thought he was going to cry. He then grabbed his stuff and slumped toward the showers.
Poor guy. If I see him again, maybe I should tell him that the swim lessons at the pool are really a front for a NAMBLA operation. That might cheer him up.
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