It was New Years Eve, and I wanted to swim a mile before drinking myself into oblivion and eating junk food all night at my house. The pool hours, per the fliers hanging around the gym, were 7 a.m. to 3 p.m. that day. I walked into the gym around 2:15 and was out on the pool deck by 2:20. Bill, the lifeguard at the pool that day, walked up to me and said that I really had only 10 minutes to swim, but he'd let me stay in the pool an extra five minutes while he closed everything else up.
That was cool of him, but what the hell? Why did the pool magically close at 2:30 instead of 3, like the flier said? Bill told me that the gym supervisor told him to shut everything down at 2:30.
Thanks, douche bag gym supervisor. Again, I'd join somewhere else, but there isn't another gym around here with a regulation-sized pool. They basically have me by the balls.
I swam until 2:35. Bill told everyone to get out of the pool at that time, but one old Russian woman (late 60s, early 70s) wouldn't listen. I'm going to call her George Washington Lady for two reasons:
First, she and George Washington have the same hairstyles. Seriously, our first president is probably rolling in his grave because the old hag stole his hairdo.
And second, like George Washington, this woman wouldn't take s*** from ruthless, overbearing powers.
Bill: Ma'am, you have to get out of the pool now. It's closed.
George Washington Lady: No, time right now izz two forcy! I can svim for tventy more meenutes.
Bill: The pool closed at 2:30 today; not 3.
George Washington Lady: Sign on door say pool izz close zree o'clock! I can svim for tventy more meenutes!!!
If this wasn't bad enough, George Washington Lady kept telling the Russian guy (my age) in the lane next to hers to keep swimming.
Russian Guy: Izz time for pool close?
George Washington Lady: No! Sign on door say pool cloze zree o'clock! Izz not zree o'clock!
George Washington Lady wouldn't relent and demanded that Bill contact the gym supervisor. The gym supervisor already left, so Bill was forced to call Hannah, the chick who works at the front desk. Hannah came to the pool, but had no luck with George Washington Lady.
Hannah: I'm sorry that the sign said the pool closes at 3, but it should have said 2:30.
George Washington Lady: You must change sign! Right now iz say I can svim to zree o'clock! Right now two forcy five!
Hannah: I can't do anything about that. Please, just get out of the pool.
George Washington Lady: I member here for tventy-zree years! Iz longer than you have been alive! I svim till zree o'clock!
George Washington Lady, if you've been a member at my gym for 23 years, it should not surprise you that they're trying to screw you over like this.
Bill, Hannah and I walked back to the pool office (I was sticking around for this Jerks of the Week column). It was now 2:50, and both of them wanted to leave. Bill suggested that locking the door to the women's locker room would be a good idea, but then realized that George Washington Lady would probably shower in the pool and clog the filters with her shampoo, soap and rotting skin.
Ten minutes later, George Washington Lady finally finished her "svim." She got out of the pool and lurched into the locker room. The Russian guy in the lane next to her kept swimming, but I motioned to him that it was time to get out.
Me: Hey man, the pool's closed.
Russian Guy: Izz time to stop svim?
Me: Yeah, it was time a half hour ago.
Russian Guy: Oi! Vhy no one tell me?
Are you kidding me?
I felt sorry for Bill and Hannah, but the maniacal George Washington Lady had a good point. The idiots running the gym shouldn't be able to change their hours on the fly like this. It's not right, just like it isn't right to rent the basketball courts out to communist Mongolians or keep hot chicks from joining the gym.
What do I want? To hit on hot girls at my gym! And when do I want it? Now! Or at least until 3 o'clock.
I was at the pool Thursday. I was in the middle of my mile, when I felt the Earth shake. The water splashed around frantically. Tidal waves crashed into my mouth as I was coming up for a breath. I gasped for air and eventually willed my legs enough to stand up straight.
Expecting to see a giant octopus attacking people in the pool or a hole in the ground caused by an earthquake, I looked around to see what caused my near-death experience. Naturally, an obscenely fat woman in her 40s jumped into my lane. Sporting a menacing look on her face, this wildebeest's monstrous breasts were jiggling around as she was hopping up and down. Fortunately, I was able to keep myself from vomiting in the pool.
I tried my best to swim around this woman for the next five minutes. She made it really difficult. She moved around everywhere and constantly blocked my path. Eventually, she rolled over to the wall and started humping it. At least that's what it looked like. I have no idea what sort of exercise she thought she was doing, but maybe she figured that the wall would be the only object on this planet willing to make sexual contact with her.
As I passed by this woman (let's call her Humpty), I took a breath and nearly gagged yet again. Something smelled really foul. Think moldy cheese, stinky socks and Rosie O'Donnell's armpit rolled into one. It was really bad.
Once again, I stopped swimming to look around. Did an old person in the pool finally die? It was bound to happen sooner or later, right?
I couldn't spot any corpses floating around in the pool. I then looked up on the pool deck, and yet another fat woman was ready to jump in.
CRASH! BOOM! POW!
After the next set of tidal waves cleared up, I was able to get a clear look at the new monster who invaded my lane. She looked exactly like Humpty, except she was about 25 years older. Oh, and she smelled like she took a dump. I think it's safe to say that Humpty and Dumpty were related.
Fortunately, I was nearly finished my mile. I was actually pushing off the wall to begin my final lap when Humpty, who was still humping the wall, propelled off the wall and crashed into me. Apparently, she was trying to squash me to make me more edible. Using my remaining energy, I sprinted back to the other wall - holding my breath as I passed by Dumpty, of course - and leaped out of the pool.
I can't believe I survived Humpty and Dumpty's attack. I thought I was a goner. But if one of these weeks I don't post a new Jerks of the Week entry, you can assume that one of the fat women at the pool finally managed to devour me.
JERK OF THE WEEK NO. 3: Angry Hockey Man
Believe it or not, there are some male Jerk of the Week candidates at my pool. And no, I'm not talking about a fat man who wants to eat me.
I actually discussed Angry Hockey Man about two months ago. He's a crazed lunatic who loves hockey and hates Russians. He believes America invented hockey, and even yelled:
I ALMOST PLAYED IN THE NHL ONE TIME!!! AND YOU DON'T KNOW S*** ABOUT HOCKEY!!!
I walked out to the pool deck two weeks ago and spotted Angry Hockey Man sitting on a bench. Thinking that I had to endure another rant about hockey, I was pleasantly surprised when all Angry Hockey Man was able to do was grunt, "Uhh..." when he saw me.
To the person who shot Angry Hockey Man with a horse tranquilizer: I thank you.
Unfortunately, the tranquilizer didn't last long. I finished my mile and walked over to the wall to grab my towel. Angry Hockey Man spotted me and began yelling:
Angry Hockey Man: WATCHING PLAYOFF HOCKEY LIVE IS THE GREATEST THING EVER. NOTHING IS BETTER THAN WATCHING PLAYOFF HOCKEY IN PERSON!!!
Umm... what? What prompted you to say this?
And nothing's greater than playoff hockey? Not even having sex with 10 hot chicks while eating a cheesesteak and cheese fries?
Angry Hockey Man: I ONLY MISSED ONE RANGERS GAME IN THE 90S!!!
Suddenly, Angry Hockey Man slammed his fist against the wall. Wow, guess missing that one game really upset him, huh?
Angry Hockey Man: THIS B**** I WAS DATING TOLD ME SHE HAD TICKETS TO THE GAME, AND WHEN WE SHOWED UP TO MADISON SQUARE GARDEN, WE DIDN'T HAVE THEM!
Angry Hockey Man: F***ING SLUT!!! I WAS DONE WITH HER AFTER THAT!!!
Done with her? Did you just break up with her, or did you lock her in your basement and torture her until her body finally gave in and she died? I would absolutely not be surprised one single bit if Angry Hockey Man took the latter approach.
Angry Hockey Man: THEN I WAS WITH ANOTHER BROAD, AND SHE DIN'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT HOCKEY! WHAT A F***ING MORON!
Yes - because anyone who doesn't know a thing about hockey is stupid.
Unwilling to hear any more of Angry Hockey Man's nonsensical rants, I told him I had to leave. My excuse:
Me: I have to get ready for the hockey game tonight.
Angry Hockey Man: Uhh... good idea. I have to go prepare too.
Really? Because I was just making that up, Angry Hockey Man.
I wonder what Angry Hockey Man does to prepare for hockey games. He probably tends to his collection of voodoo dolls of every player in the NHL, prays to a facsimile of the Stanley Cup at the hockey altar in his house, or downloads photos of nude hockey players.
You know, I'm beginning to realize why there are no hot chicks at my gym. The ones who aren't eaten by fat ladies like Humpty and Dumpty are captured and tortured by Angry Hockey Man.