Match Your Weakness With A Name

One?

"Hey! No running on the pool deck!"

Sweat runs down my face, though I am sitting still in my lifeguard chair. It's hot out. It's expected to be the hottest week of summer. The fact that school's barely ended and we're not even two weeks into June has nothing to do with it. No. The weather just decided to fuck us all over.

And these kids. My god. You'd think these parents would have a handle on their children, given that they took them to a freaking pool, but I guess not. I mean, a few screaming children I can handle (a la previous job), especially if they have reasons, but if everyone is screaming for varying reasons, I don't know who's dying and who I can ignore.

A family of three walks through the pool gates. It's a mother and two young children, presumably hers. She leads them over to a bench, drops her heap of towels there, and turns back around to the gates. Her kids don't follow. They run for the diving board.

I roll my eyes and point my focus on the mother. "Hey, ma'am?" I yell. "Are you going to leave your kids here?"

She wheels around. "Yes," she shouts back. "Is that a problem?"

"You can't leave children under fourteen unsupervised. I'm sorry. It's a safety rule."

After glancing toward the kids, as though wondering if she could get away with telling me they were fourteen, she sighs and returns to the bench. Moments later, a group of rough-housing teenagers splash a large amount of water at her feet, and I smile to myself upon seeing her face. I often wonder how these people come to the pool and expect to stay completely dry.

The girls who were running on deck earlier are now examining the pool cover. I pray they don't do anything ridiculous. It'd somehow be my fault if they did.

God, I hate this job.

The pool gates swing open again, and I brace myself for the worst, but it's not a nightmare family this time. Instead, it's two guys my own age, maybe a bit younger. The taller of the two is much more eye-catching than the other, or maybe that's just me. I mean, he is the only one here wearing long sleeves. I may have seen him on a magazine cover. He's skinny. Too skinny. He's clutching the smaller guy's arm for dear life, and the smaller guy doesn't seem to mind at all. The two of them walk over to one of the secluded benches in the shade, and the taller one sits down on the edge as the smaller one unpacks a massive bag of towels, sunblock, and who-knows-what-else. They make conversation with each other. I don't pay attention to their words.

It's kinda cute, I notice as the smaller one takes off his shirt, how the taller boy's hair is bleached at the ends and flared out, like Alex Gaskarth's was around 2005. He still hasn't taken off his sweater. It's over a hundred degrees out. Is he going to keep it on all day?

The smaller one makes his way over to the diving board, yet the taller one stays on the bench. This is the point at which I realize I am staring, and quickly look away, toward the pool itself. It's not as interesting as staring at the boy.

Some mom has busted out floaties, and half the occupants of the pool are gathered around her, clamoring for one. The other half, mostly teenagers, have basically blocked off one side of the pool and are playing some sort of diving game. Both of these things are against the pool rules. But what am I going to do about it? Yelling "Everyone at this pool is breaking a rule!" would make me sound like a teacher, and it's summer. We're supposed to be done with teachers. So I stay put and place my head in my hands.

I hear a soft chuckle off to the side, and look up and around.

The boy has caught sight of me, possibly realized my dilemma, and is smiling widely in my direction. I glance to my other side, wondering if he may be looking at someone else. There's no one there. He's looking at me.