CHINESE SOAP TORTURE

The pool temp at the West Side YMCA has been creeping lower and lower for months now so that it’s somewhere in the 70s, or lake temperature. My informal poll of pool mates there has most of the old men I swim with telling me how much they like it, even that it’s too warm, and of course none of them swim long enough to actually feel their body temp drop. If you’re in there for an hour like I am and skinny like I am you might start to cramp and get goose bumps like I do. It’s really not a pleasant experience and just plain odd in particular since all the rest of the pools I’ve swam at in this city are somewhere in the low 80s, as they should be. To put it in perspective, the fire department takes a couple of lanes each month for cold water training day to prepare them for rescue or retrieval in bodies of water say like the Hudson or East River.

It’s also a very small pool, built in the 20s with narrow lanes. Too many people and it’s almost impossible to get a good workout if you’re a fast swimmer. I’ve come to be displeased with it.

What I ended up doing is changing my routine and heading to the Chinatown YMCA. A new facility, that’s small, pleasantly populated, and best of all has a beautiful six-lane pool that's the perfect temperature with availability all the time. I love it. I'm in love with it.

It’s also great because for some reason it reminds me of pools I’ve swam at in other countries, which makes me feel like I’m traveling somewhere. This sort of concept is extremely pleasing to me. Maybe it’s the new construction smell, the austerity of the place, the little showers with curtains, or the low water pressure. I dunno, I just like it and what it reminds me of.

I did find out about something there though that I hadn’t expected. I was washing my hair after getting out the pool and happened get a get a dribble of the house soap in my hair, the stuff that comes out of the dispensers in the shower (I shower my hair with anything that makes suds) and proceeded to experience the most skull-fucking excruciating pain I’d felt since my last migraine, only this was like a stream of pepper spray. I was moaning in my little cubicle, blind, helpless, trying to wash it out of my eye and couldn’t even open the lids to get some water in there. I gave up trying to see, and finished my shower soaping up without even looking. When I could finally get a look at my organ in one of the counter mirrors it was as red as an inflamed anus and every little blood vessel and capillary was called to attention competing for exposure. It sorta reminded me of the time a bug flew into my eye in college while riding my little Honda scooter, and the eyeball swelled around a pupil. I thought I did permanent damage that time as well.

Later, on my way over to Cara’s birthday get together I thought that if the US Government really wanted to do the torture right, the torture they say they don’t do, they should just hold the fuckers down and squirt YMCA shower soap in their orbs. The bastards would be screaming for their mothers, they’d say anything to make it stop. Like they do now I suppose.

Eyes heal fast though, that’s one thing I love about them besides the obvious. I was going to get some drops but rode it out. The next morning when I woke I had a nice dried cake of weepy irritation in the corner of my socket. The last of the poison I suppose.