"Can you open the deep end for swimming, Ned?"
I knew who it was before I looked down from my chair. There stood Joey Keller, wet hair plastered against his scalp, a shiver spreading across his skinny frame and a bubble of snot emerging from his left nostril.
"Sorry, Joe. Too crowded today and too many divers."
As if to make my point, one of the teen-aged boys cannon-balled toward my guard chair, drenching Joey and me.
"Ok," said Joey, wiping his nose with his forearm and then running off across the wet pavement.
"No running," I yelled but he ignored me.
Scanning the crowd on the lawn across the pool, I saw Sandy Billings, lying back on her lounge chair and apparently reading a novel. How I missed her arrival in a stunning red two-piece was beyond me but I was determined to say hello when we rotated our guard positions.
Just as that opportunity arrived, I was greeted by Jim Thomas, our manager, who handed me a garbage bag and a strainer.
"You've got butt duty this afternoon, Ned."
"Terrific," I said, reaching for the equipment to sift cigarette butts from cement ashtrays spaced around the pool. Fortunately, one of these receptacles was near Sandy and I took my time at that location.
"I see they give you the important jobs," she said, smiling behind her large, round sunglasses.
"I am highly qualified for all my life-saving duties," I said. "That reminds me. You still plan on nursing school this fall?"
"You bet," she said. "We'll both be saving lives."
"Then take notes," I suggested. "I'll be out here all afternoon."
Once I completed my rounds, I rejoined the guard rotation, enforcing adult swims and disrupting aggressive horseplay while enduring the good-natured taunts from inebriated club members.
Heading to the office for a break, I was stopped by Jim once again.
"We've got a problem," he said, "Poop in the baby pool. I'll clear out the moms and kids and you go get the scooper and chlorine granules."
A few minutes later, I was standing at the edge of the circular kiddies pool, doing my best to snare the source of an all-too-common emergency. Looking up at the expanding onlookers, I saw Sandy, pretending to take notes on her palm.
"Rescue of the day," she said, turning to head home.
