THE GODS MUST BE CRAZY

TWELVE LOUNGE CHAIRS AND COUNTLESS POOL PATRONS. YOU DO THE MATH.
By Kelly Kreth

I love summer, but I am glad it is over. The stress of going to the pool was just too much.
One would think that having free access to two large outdoor pools in New York City-at John Jay Park on Cherokee Place-would be a godsend. And it was. But there’s always something.
The pool rules are strict. You cannot go to the pool area carrying anything other than a book, towel, a locker key and one bottle of water. You may place them in a transparent bag. No street clothes at all are allowed. You must shake out your towel in front of a monitor to prove you are not trying to sneak in a contraband skirt or iPod.

I was OK with forgoing a cover up, because on the weekdays I went it was a tony Upper East Side crowd of stay-at-home moms and older people. It was a little annoying not being able to have my cell, but I only went for two hours so I’d leave it in the locker; it gave me more time to relax and read.
The pool opened daily at 11 a.m. and a line usually started to form 15 minutes prior. It was never crowded on weekdays, so there was never an issue of being turned away.
However, this summer the pool introduced something different. Something so wacky that it had everyone in an uproar, fighting, pushing and conniving, turning what should have been a lovely and relaxing day into a survival-of-the-fittest challenge.
Prior to this year we all had to bring one towel to lie on. Chairs were not allowed. Mats? A no-no. So we were all equal; I could show up at 11 a.m. and walk right in and get a nice area in direct sun. All was cool.
This year, though, the pool invested in 12 lounge chairs. These were not luxurious in any way, yet every day people would start to line up at 10 a.m. trying to be one of the first to claim a chair. People got undressed to bathing suits outside while on line so they could rush in and grab a locker and rush back out ahead of the crowd.
Some people-those people-would try to save chairs for others and that’d just get me and everyone else mad. Picture a pack of pool-goers running out to get a chair, one hoping his new hip would let him break from the pack, only to hear the whistle blow and a guard shout, “NO RUNNING!”
Most days, I was right there with them. I was not so invested in a chair that I was willing to strip on line in the middle of a highly trafficked park. But I did have the process down to a science. I was not chairless once. I had youth-I’m 38-on my side. But I really attribute my unbroken chair-acquisition record to faster thinking than faster moving.
I’d walk into the park and size up the people on line ahead of me: I was always faster, younger, had less baggage to place in a locker. I’d take a sip of water and give myself a mental pep talk. I would not engage in conversation with those who might want to align with me because of my place in line. I’d just stare straight ahead with the eye of the tiger.
As it got closer to 11 a.m., people would start outwardly strategizing on which seats would be theirs and how they’d save one for a friend. I’d scowl, but I’d also try to look smug, knowing that getting what you want starts with believing you will have it. I took to visualizing myself prone in a chair, oil glistening on my long limbs.
But when that whistle blew and the Parks Department employee started allowing people in-single file-all hell would break loose.
As I stood on that line daily, feeling adrenalin pumping, my heart raced and I considered ‘roiding up to get an unfair advantage. “This is the rat race, man,” I thought. “Only in New York City are people ready to cut each other to get a plastic lounge chair for two hours.” Sometimes I would just feel like literally throwing in the towel.
But overcoming those dark thoughts was the key to being a champion. Once I’d nabbed my prey, I’d laugh as I was applying oil, back of my chair raised, seeing disappointed faces staring longingly at my few inches above ground, and think, “The gods must be crazy.” Or at least the Parks Department. My record stands unbroken, but I sure am glad September has rolled around.

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