I have discovered, during my five-month stint as a director for my homeowners' association, that swimming pools are the bane of humanity.
And I'm not exaggerating.
There's the whole We have to be compliant with county codes! and then there's Those landscaping wood chips are clogging the drains! and lest we forget The slide sign is out-of-date and must be replaced! and dang-nab-it we can't leave out The pool furniture looks shitty and we need new stuff! And the biggest headache of them all? The Virginia Graeme Baker Pool and Spa Safety Act. Ugh.
And our inspection is May 8th. And opening day is May 23rd. And we are so far from being ready that it's almost comical. And our ex-cop of a pool chairman is losing his mind and in doing so is being a complete and total plonker to everybody. All the long meetings and drama as of late have been because of the frakking pool and his lack of attention to detail. To top it all off, his I treat everybody like I just pulled them over on a speeding violation and whoa! It turns out they have blow in the glove box! attitude is such that for the first time in my adult life I have the urge to bury someone alive. Preferably him.
I once dreamed of having a swimming pool in our backyard. I pictured a 15-foot deep end where I could teach scuba, beautiful blue water with my kids splashing and frolicking all summer long, and beautiful teak lounge chairs around the deck on which I could sunbathe my pale, white, flabby stretch marks in splendid privacy.
And now? All I want to do is volunteer for pool chair next year, back up a dump truck full of dirt onto the pool deck, and fill that sucker up because the only good neighborhood pool? Is a pool filled with dirt and perennials.