Public hot tubs

Being raised in a home with a swimming pool was wonderful. Our family enjoyed the middle-class luxury of a San Fernando Valley neighborhood from the late 50's through the early 70's. Most of us had pools. And since that bastian of L.A. suburbia is technically in a semi-arid or Mediterranean climate, the weather stays warm to hot from Spring through Fall. We got to swim 8 months out of the year.

One of the downsides to growing up with a pool is that I have always had somewhat of an aversion to public water/bathing venues. Sure, we had to shower in school after gym class, but we didn't have to take a bath with a bunch of filthy adolescents. So now, in adulthood, I have a problem with taking a bath with filthy, disgusting adults! Public hot tubs...gah! We have a pool and a hot tub in our backyard now.

On our little Monterey overnight trip this past weekend, we stayed at our favorite cheapy motel (HI Express on Cannery Row). Cheap this time of year means $165 a night...but cheaper than the Monterey Plaza located a hundred feet up the road. Our little motel is neat, clean, has a continental breakfast, is situated halfway between the wharf and the aquarium (a ten minute walk in either direction), and, it has a small hot tub. We look forward to spending a hour or so languishing in the well-kept public bath, usually in the afternoon after a day of walking around.

But this time out, our plans changed. We got back to the motel room around 4:00 and discovered our private spa was filled with people...four to be exact. Two large adults and their two very large pre-teen children. Fine. It's their motel too. After 30 minutes or so, they were still flopping around in the little hot tub. They frolicked, jumped around, splashed, and seemed to be having a good ol' time. Oh...and they were also doing something else. No, not that! After all, there were children in it, adult-sized 10 year olds, but children nonetheless. No...the male parent was sitting behind the female parent...and squeezing zits on her back! Yup...like two overweight aquatic chimpanzees in a grooming ritual, the male was popping pimples on his mate's back.

This revolting display went on for at least half an hour as we stood looking down from our third story window...our mouths agape with disgust. This was the epitome of public rudeness in my book. I realize people do things in spas when no one is looking, we try not to think about that when we partake in communal hot tubbing. But geeze, I don't want to know about it first hand! I don't want to see it happening, knowing that various globules of puss, blackhead spew, and other muscousal materials are being deposited in the same water that other people (non-family members) must wallow in. Our conversation went something like this...

Loretta: Oh shit, check this out!
Me: (looking out the window) Holy shit...are they doing what I think they are doing?
Loretta: I'm complaining to the manager!
Me: And just what do you think he is going to do about it?
Loretta: I don't know.
Me: Like Mr. Gupta is going to tell them to stop popping pimples in the public pool?
Loretta: I guess.
Me: Well, that about wraps up any chance of us going in the spa...now, or anytime soon.
Loretta: Shit!
Me: Shit! Wanna drink?
Loretta: Make mine kind of weak.
Me: Fine...I'm having a double. Maybe several.

Heck, in our backyard spa, we hesitate letting people we know go in it. In a public hot tub, fahgeddaboutit! Forget the pimple popping...every child under the age of 15 takes a leak in them the moment they get in!

There must a Seinfeldism in here somewhere.