“We have two pools here, the Lagoon pool and Infinity pool,” the bell hop told us as he placed our bags in our room.
I had a feeling which was which but I asked, anyway. “Which is the adult pool?”
“Children are allowed at both but most people with kids go to the lagoon pool,” he said, waiting patiently for Jon to leave him a tip.
And so it was at our resort this past weekend, two pools: one for the breeders among us and the other for those that are childless or at least would like to pretend to be for the length of their stay. As someone without children, I tend to opt for the areas designated as “non-child friendly.” The last thing I feel like doing on my relaxing vacation is listen to someone else’s child scream.
Unfortunately, the only outdoor restaurant and bar at this hotel butted up to the pool equipped with the water slide. Jon insisted we sit around this pool due to its proximity to the bar, food, and television. Not pleased, I grudgingly acquiesced.
We organized our lounge chairs, choosing ones as far away from any commotion as was humanly possible; this included the itinerant cell phone user as well as hyped up child. I strategically placed my travel accoutrements on the table next to me creating a buffer zone between myself and anyone else contemplating setting up shop next to me. Properly situated and feeling prepared for any eventuality, I settled into a mid-morning sunbathing bliss.
Our quiet was quickly disrupted with the appearance of several families, all of which were toting toddlers. The couple who jammed themselves next to us came equipped with a nanny and all manner of paraphernalia for mother and child. Once unpacked, the area around us looked more like a local swap meet than a resort pool area. I eked out a smile in their direction, reminding myself we were the interlopers in this situation. We could have just as easily sat by the other pool reducing our chances of being so easily annoyed. Perhaps the proximity and easy access to alcohol was no accident on the hotel’s part.
We managed an hour or so laying prostrate before the activity around the pool no longer remained conducive to any form of relaxation. Surprisingly, it was not the screams of small children or their overbearing parents that sent us packing; it was some idiot talking on his cell phone loud enough for people in the next county to hear his conversation about recent investment strategies. I thought the days of barking into one’s cell phone as if it were a megaphone were over. Apparently not.
“Let’s get some lunch,” I intoned to Jon as I motioned to one of the tables around the pool.
Although it was only noon, I ordered myself a drink. I could hear my mother’s voice in the back of my head spurring me on, “It’s five o’clock somewhere.” I reminded myself that guilt has no place on vacation.
As we ate lunch, periodically a faint smell of urine mingled with chlorine wafted through the air. I felt obliged to continually shift in my seat in search of where the offensive odors were emanating from. No abandoned nappies near my chair that I could see. My only thought was the pool. As far as I could tell, all of the miniature inhabitants were wearing diapers under their suits. I couldn’t imagine any self-respecting mother allowing her child in a public pool without appropriate leakage protection. But, not everyone feels as strongly about sanitation as I think they should.
With a final slurp of my drink, I informed Jon it was the adult pool tomorrow. He could make a pilgrimage to the bar or flag down one of the resort staff to bring him whatever he needed. I didn’t need to eat or drink that badly. Peace and quiet was what I was here for. I hate being one of those intolerant asses who feels so easily impinged upon. But, when you are paying up for first class hanging out in the back of the plane, or the kiddie pool, doesn’t cut it. It was “infinity” or beyond for me and nothing else.