A couple of years after I qualified as a Red Cross Water Safety Instructor, I was helping out teaching Senior Life Savers at the university pool. We had a swim team member in the class who was enormous; he was heavily muscled and two meters (6’6″) tall. He enjoyed picking on people, especially women — pushing them into the pool and dunking them — being a pest before class, and not paying attention to techniques in class. He thought he was too strong and too good at swimming to have any trouble with rescues.

For the final practical test, we teachers were assigned to be “drowning victims” for the students, and none of the other teachers wanted to work with this guy. I volunteered, but in me, he got a “panicky” victim, who tried to grab him and climb on top. Since he hadn’t learned the techniques, he tried to overpower me with pure strength, and I guarantee that doesn’t work well when the victim is pushing and grabbing. When he finally wrestled me into the towing position, he was exhausted — and so was I — but he thought his troubles were over.

On the way back to the pool edge, I lifted my legs out of the water, which pushed him under and made him struggle — all while using bad techniques that ended up choking me and making me “panic” again.

He was completely exhausted when we got to the pool edge, and the examiner (who knew exactly what I had done and why) failed him and told him he had to do the whole test over.

On the retest, he used all the right techniques and had a “cooperative” victim. He listened after that.

I’m a lifeguard at a community pool. I see an adult jump into the deep end, and immediately, he looks like he’s in trouble. I rush over and assist him to the edge of the pool. After he has caught his breath, he’s angry.

Swimmer: “Your pool is a death trap! Why doesn’t it say how deep it is?!”

Me: “It does! It’s written on the sides, clear as day!”

I point to the clear signs painted on the side of the pool: “4 ft”, “6 ft”, and then “8 ft”. The swimmer sees them, squints, and then looks embarrassed.

Swimmer: “Oh, I thought those meant age restrictions, not how deep the pool went…”

For two years, I worked as a lifeguard at a public pool. My manager retired, and someone I had never met before took his place. Three weeks later, on my day off, I received an email telling me that I was fired. The following reasons were given for my termination.

• Coming to work in a pickup truck. I live an hour’s drive from the city where the pool is located, on a stretch of dirt road that provides next to no traction if there has been any rain the previous night. The pickup truck in question is not wider or longer than a parking space, but it was notably taller than the cars and SUVs that most staff and customers drove.
• Not using all of the provided storage space. Each lifeguard at this pool was permitted the use of two lockers, roughly the same size as those available for the customers. The combination of my clothes and personal effects were not enough to fill one locker, so I’d not been using a second.
• Using a poor choice of words while reprimanding a parent who tried to leave her child alone in the main pool. (The reason was not the act of reprimand itself, but my choice of words.) Apparently, saying, “You should not leave a young boy unattended in a pool deeper than the height of a grown elephant,” and, “If you continue to endanger your child, security and I are gonna have to kick you out,” was a problem on account of upsetting the customer. I was supposed to just point out, “We cannot allow a child to be left without supervision,” and leave it at that.
• I was often seen eating at a certain fast food chain after work and visiting a nearby arcade on my days off. Neither of these businesses were in any competition with our pool, to say nothing of the fact that, to be clear, this was not happening while I was working, and what I did while off the clock was not my superiors’ business.

Any attempts to make further contact with the company superiors or Human Resources were met with silence.

I am now working at a different public pool in a city closer to home. It’s not as expansive and varied as my previous workplace, but the management actually tells employees if something they’re doing is a problem rather than firing them without warning, and all of the things that merit punishment and/or termination are actually reasonable. I call that a fair trade!

I was mostly a witness to the first half of this story, and I was directly involved in the second half.

I’m on a cruise, and I come up to the pool. There’s a water volleyball game going on that looks like it’s in its final round. One guy in the pool (who I’ll call “Mr. D”) is a tall, large fellow who is being annoyingly abrasive. One of my friends who has been up here for the game fills me in that smack talk is allowed, but Mr. D has been overdoing it, and my friend and others around are talking about how done they are with how annoying he is.

Mr. D’s team wins, which he exults in, and the game is over. The host asks Mr. D to introduce himself for all the smack talk he did, which he does. 

Host: *On a microphone* “Allow me to introduce Mr. D, our champion trash-talker.”

There’s slight applause.

Host: “Now, that does it for our game. Stick around for our men’s sexy legs competition! We will need about ten men to compete and four ladies to be judges.”

With a little prodding, I volunteer to be a judge in this contest. I am led to the stage where I sit down on a chair and watch as the host rounds up men for this contest. 

Host: “We now have ten contestants for our competition, and we will no longer be taking volunteers. The show will begin in five minutes!”

The host and his assistant are rounding up the volunteers and prepping them for the competition. A minute later, Mr. D strides up to the host and starts chatting. I can’t hear what’s being said, but Mr. D is getting louder and more animated. Finally, the host returns to the stage.

Host: “Ladies and gentlemen, we will be starting our sexy legs competition shortly, and allow me to introduce our special guest who just got added to the roster, Mr. D!”

I inwardly groan as this guy struts up to the group of guys, ready for the competition. All the other volunteers look like they’re here for the fun, while Mr. D looks like he’s taking it entirely seriously.

The competition begins with the men crossing in front of the stage and pool, doing silly poses, and showing off their legs. It’s all in good fun, even though Mr. D reminds me of a rooster as he parades in front of the judges.

Then, in an interesting turn of events, the host turns to the audience, where a group of people has gathered near the stage to watch. The host walks up to a woman who’s at the front of the audience.

Host: “Well, ma’am, it looks like you’re enjoying this competition.”

Lady: “You bet!”

Host: “However, as great as these guys are, not all of them can make it to the next round. Which of our contestants do you think should not make it to the next round?”

Lady: *Without skipping a beat* “Mr. D!”

Host: “Mr. D? Why did you pick him?”

Lady: “Because this is the sexy legs competition.”

Thoroughly defeated, Mr. D took his cue and left, his walk definitely showing that he had felt this rejection. All of us judges burst out laughing and applauding, but we were also a little jealous that this random lady got to say what we all wanted to.

When I was much younger, my parents took me to a swimming pool. They showed me the keys to our lockers — let’s say 158 and 159.

Parents: “Hey, what do you think? Can you remember some numbers for later?”

I misunderstood and looked around in shock at the lockers numbered 1 through 200 surrounding me.

Me: “ALL OF THEM?”