There’s no P in our Ool… but there’s Poop
Not to brag or anything, but I have some wonderful friends. And one of these wonderful friends just had a birthday and rented suite at a pretty fancy schmancy place down in Palm Springs. (It was great, Mom. We braided each others’ hair, had one two many glasses of chocolate milk, sat in the sun telling not-too-scary ghost stories…)
Then around 2 on Easter Sunday, while we were anxiously waiting the Happy Hour for half-off poolside drinks, because, damn, fancy schmancy places have fancy schmancy prices, everyone got out of the water as if a silent alarm had gone off. A small child informed one of us that someone pooped in the pool. The hotel staff paraded out, one or two at a time, stared at the poop, then left. Perhaps to all vote if they thought it was a Babe Ruth or something more nefarious.
Meanwhile, unsuspecting newcomers, armed with still rolled up towels and chlorine dreams would start to dip their toes in the water or lean over to test the temperature. Across the pool, we were helpless, yelling “No no, no! Poop! Poooop!” Our shouts tossed about in the wind. I had to look away a few times. The most disturbing to watch was a man (who we all thought just said fuck it, poop can’t hurt me (yes, btw, it very much can), like the creepy man who we all knew knew he knew, yet still slowly slunk himself into the water in the most inconspicuous corner) dive in with goggles, mouth open, ready to swim his little heart out.
The pool staff did not stop him. They were probably still in their heated “What is it?'” meeting. He splashed about happily as everyone around the pool stared horrified, and then the same little Cindy Lou Who-esque girl said, “Mister, someone pooped in there.” The poor man got out of the water faster than he got in, and started to retch.
Still, we sat patiently and waited, because now it was Happy Hour. Our waitress told us they’d drain the pool, because you can get worm eyes from it. Worm eyes? Yes, worms in your eyes. The towel boy told us they’d drain it, it usually takes a day, and that he couldn’t get us free drinks for our inconvenience because his manager was there.
Happy Hour was over, the towel boys were putting away the chairs, and a man with what looked like R2D2 attached to a big vacuum started vacuuming the bottom of whole pool. I went over and asked if they were going to drain the pool. He said yes, and I asked how long it would take, he said he had no idea. So we went to dinner. When we came back, we found the whole pool area, most disappointingly of which was the hot tub and fire pits, closed for “maintenance.” The pool looked fuller than before, and exceptionally tantalizing in the moonlight. Dreams dashed, we went upstairs to cram twelve people in a small jacuzzi bathtub, but it was broken before we could break it.
As a casual pool goer, I’m not familiar with the procedure for this fecal matter. And as a broke-ass, I have no idea what the protocol is in regards to fancy schmancy places and poop. Surely, rich people don’t stand for it, right? We lost some prime fun water time and the pool was the main reason we were there. Am I wrong for thinking we should have been compensated in some way? Ideally, monetarily, but I would have settled for a free drink and better communication.
After thinking about it more and googling “hotel poop pool” to see what the internet had to say about it, I found out about these boys. I also found the CDC’s Fecal Accident guide “What to do when you find poop in the pool.” I feel very informed now and more entitled to compensation. But if we were, would it encourage cheapskates with a high threshold for disgusting-ness to resort to poop antics for deals at hotels? Would you?
(Also, I’d like to thank the CDC for making me never want to get in a pool again with their bluntness: “Pool water is shared by every swimmer. Really, it’s communal bathing water.”)