Trip to the Swimming Baths

I was struggling to keep my bare feet from making any kind of contact with the wet, mucky floor, whilst simultaneously contorting my body to prevent my towel slipping to reveal my extremities, despite being in an enclosed cubicle. My lack of familiarity with the swimming baths experience, arousing a rare modesty.

My discomfort was heightened by the arrival of an obstreperous rabble of school children, hyper for escaping the confines of their classroom. The excited chatter and giggles coming from the adjacent cubicles made me paranoid that I was to be made the butt of an humiliating schoolboy prank. My trousers and shoes would be swiped by small arms under the partition walls, or a talc-filled swimming cap poured over me, forcing me to emerge from my confinement as an irate abominable snowman.

My fears were eased and replaced by amusement when overhearing various comedic chats. A first boy, seemingly alpha-male in social status, asked his minions.
“Have you seen Beetlejuice 2?”
Falling into the trap, a second boy tried to prove his worth, replying
“Yeh, I’ve seen it”
Emphasising the “I’ve” as some sort of affront to a third boy, who conceded almost apologetically, but certainly honestly
“No, I’ve not.”
Any fears this boy had of losing the respect of the alpha-male were soon put to rest when the first boy laughed
“It doesn‘t even exist! How have you seen it?”

I didn’t take notice of the feeble backtracking as my attention was grasped by the piercing tones of what must have been the teacher.
“Simon!” she shrieked,
“What on Earth have you done to Sarah’s coat?”
What on Earth had he done? The horrified reaction of the exasperated teacher suggested some ungodly soiling had occurred. I slung my bag over my shoulder and headed quickly out of my cubicle in hope of witnessing the crime scene first hand. To my disappointment, there was no sign of the unfolding coat crisis. Just a line of children in all manner of pyjamas, impatiently awaiting their turn in the pool to learn life-saving skills of little practical use. Not even a chalked outline of a slain anorak or numbered evidence cones to stir my curiosity.

Never mind. I was feeling quietly smug. On my way in, I had slipped past the reception desk unnoticed and thus, the ten pound note in my pocket remained crisp and unbroken.

The consequence of this suddenly became startlingly clear as I put my stuff into a carefully chosen locker. The payment for the swim was meant to break the ten pound note, in order to provide the change needed to secure the locker. My opportunistic attempt to save a quick buck had left me stranded in my old swimming shorts. Shorts I was already slightly self-conscious about. I was hoping the transition from cubicle to swimming pool would be swift and unnoticed. Now I was facing the humiliation of having to go back to reception, half dressed, to ask for change.

There was no way I was getting fully dressed for the task, it was the middle of winter and it had taken forever to take off the multitude of layers I had on for warmth. I wasn’t putting them all back on for the sake of a ten second conversation regarding borrowing change for a locker. I also feared that drawing attention to myself, might in turn draw attention to my payment dodging crimes. Was it really a crime? Stealing swimming time? Either way, to avoid the inevitably awkward social situation, I decided to risk leaving my clothes in the locker, unlocked.

Holding on to the metal rail as I headed cautiously down slippery steps to the pool, I scoured the heads bobbing up and down along the surface of the water, hoping to eyeball possible bag thieves. The suspects were mainly old age pensioners so I didn’t much fancy their chances of making any quick getaways.

I swam lengths, trying to get my mind back to state of serenity at which I had hoped to float and glide, smoothly through the blue.

Alas, it was no use. Paranoia plagued my every stroke, worst case scenarios ran on a loop through my thoughts. The official looking man who had just entered poolside, in shirt and tie with an ID pass hanging from his neck, suggestive of authority, would be heading straight for me to order me out of the pool for my fare dodging misdemeanours. Forcing me to walk the length of the pool, sheepishly past the attractive poolside attendants, all toned and tanned, smirking at my near perished swimming shorts, which once boasted such rich, cerulean but had since faded to an apologetic pale grey, and were victim to various sun tan lotion stains from one too many holiday outings. Upon reaching the sanctity of my locker, red-faced from humiliation and anger, I would discover to my horror that the contents have been stolen. I head back out to the pool to grovel to the official looking man but have to wait, awkward and increasingly more aware of how pasty and skinny I am, whilst the man chats up the tanned attendants with lascivious confidence. They lap up the prurient lines whilst shooting me looks of pointed disdain.

I am suddenly snapped out of this scenario when a graceless brute, making unholy tidal-waves, fells a tree trunk of an arm down on my unsuspecting head. I stand up, coughing and spluttering the gallon of water I have just swallowed back into the pool, hold my arms out, palms facing the Heavens in a pleading “What the Hell are you doing?” gesture. I want to lecture the selfish oaf on the stupidity of doing the backstroke in a busy, public swimming pool, but I merely mumble “For God’s sake” and carry on swimming, growing increasingly frustrated by the heavy meandering required to make a length.

I sneer , childish and jealous, at an old lady who has had a monopoly on the quiet end lane since my arrival. She swims, slow and serene, up and down with zero obstruction, blissfully oblivious to the spaghetti junction negotiations the rest of us were undertaking length by length.

Less than fifteen minutes in to my swim, I can take it no longer. I just can’t relax. I rush back to my locker and fling the door open expecting an empty steel box.

My bag sits exactly where I left it. Of course it does. Why would anyone steal it? It’s perfectly safe.

I contemplate getting back in the pool now my worries have been eased. I look back toward the water and witness the backstroking male brewing up a storm by the lane-hogging pensioner. I pause, grab my bag and head for the changing rooms. ‘More trouble than it’s worth‘ I think.