Everybody in the water

 

If you read yesterday's blog, you know I'm still red hot mad about the mad man roaming my neighborhood and terrorizing innocent Culver City residents who are effectively being denied their right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

Today, I'd like to relay an exponentially less violent encounter with one of the local "members of the unhoused community." 

I was scolded recently on the nomenclature I had been using, which demonstrates why we have problems that get looked at but never solved. 

Homeless people are homeless people. Calling them euphemistic names may make us feel better about ourselves, but it doesn't do anything for them. It's window dressing with no windows to speak of. Nor any roof. Not even a pot to piss in.

Back to the story.

I was in the locker room at the Culver City Plunge -- is there a better named Municipal Swimming Pool in all of America-- fresh from another mile+ non-stop swim, when a transient entered. Not only was it obvious this man was without a home, he had a tenuous grasp on reality as well.

This was a younger man and he immediately started grumbling at me.

"They didn't want to let me in. They said I needed a swimsuit to get in the water."

"Yeah, that's usually the way it works," I responded, while standing there in my 175 lbs. (sorry) birthday suit.

"Hey, do you have an extra one?"

"Extra what?"

"Extra swimsuit."

"Uhhhhhhh, no."

"You just got done swimming, can I borrow yours?"

"Again, no."

With that he mumbled to himself, started looking through the empty lockers. It was the sartorial version of dumpster diving. I was tempted to watch, but decided instead to make a hasty exit.

On the way home I wondered, how exactly did he think that would work? 

I'd lend him my fancy European-style, lycra swimming suit, watch him jump in the water, wait for him to lazily breaststroke a few hundred meters, and then retrieve the suit? 

Yeah, I'd have to be a lot higher than he was for that to occur.