Dedicated to Andrew Warren.

For some time Brittany and I have been lamenting the fact that we can’t tan by a pool, and are restricted to the tedium that has become my roof deck or Central Park. At the very least on my deck Brittany won’t scare small children while she eats an entire watermelon in a midget-like frenzy, and in central park there is always the small possibility of my stealing a purse puppy.

After some research and the sobering realization that we were going to have to stoop so low as to sneak into a hotel pool, Brittany came across the public pool at Central Park and we so naively believed all of our problems were solved.

I walked the 57 blocks from my place to the pool, given my distaste for public transportation and spending money on a cab instead of more important things like liquor or shoes. Along the way I was taken aback by how much nicer central park on the upper west side was in comparison to the Columbus Circle section I’m so used to. Even after I saw the homeless man covered in feces and blood get attacked by a piece of white trash because he said he was “stealing his shorts.”

When I first got there, I should have known something was up when I saw some natives fighting with the guards because they hadn’t brought bathing suits. Then they wouldn’t let me in because I hadn’t brought a pad lock for any of my precious belongings. I told him there was no way in hell I was getting in their water, and I wouldn’t let my bag out of my hand. I got ‘tude right back until the helpful overweight lady in day-glo spandex told me the deli across the street sold padlocks.

I was pissed I blew around $8 on a lock and a samosa, and as far as I was concerned I had just purchased my summer membership to the damn pool.

When Brittany and I finally got past the first gate, the second guard stopped us and said we were required to lock up our belongings, nor were we allowed to wear cover-ups into the pool area. We were confused to say the least, and questioned the cover up rule. I thought he was simply partaking in sexual harassment, and considering it’s one of my favorite hobbies as well I thought I could find it in my heart to forgive him. Then he responded that we couldn’t wear cover ups because he was going to make us go through the showers.

The Holocaust was only some 60 odd years ago, and the last thing you want to tell a pissed off Jew is that you’re sending them “to the showers.” I decided against lecturing him on his poor choice of words, and submitted myself to the locker room.

It was a nasty room with lockers on the sides, and a lone woman to guard our already locked possessions. I wrapped up my ipod, phone, book, and cover-up in my towel so the pool Nazi’s wouldn’t suspect anything, and subjected myself to the Auschwitz of public pools.

Brittany and I were two of the most in-shape people there, and comprised of two of the five legal adults there without tattoos. I’ve never seen so many poorly rendered back pieces or tribal crosses, and it finally broke me out of my tattoo mindset. I’ve wanted one for most of my life, but considering my low pain threshold and my parents tendency to go bat shit crazy over any body modifications, have decided against it thus far. I still don’t think they’ve fully recovered from my belly button ring, but in my defense it was 4/20 and I was celebrating surviving after accidentally setting my hair on fire. I only had to cut off my bangs.

It was a dog eat dog world out there, and I was getting nervous because of the total lack of control. I thought lifeguarding at the JCC outdoor pool was hard because none of the tummy tucked bitches watched their kids, but here if one went under it just meant one less welfare darling.

I also didn’t like the way a lot of the patrons were looking at us, especially the 12 year old boys. Granted we stuck out like sore thumbs with our absence of belly chains, and I looked like a jackass by coordinating my accessories with my polo bikini. We were also oddly one of the few people there without phones, and were frequently accosted for the time.

At three the lifeguards started blowing their whistles, and demanding that everyone get out of the water. I was confused, and immediately assumed someone had shit in the pool. Even worse, what if they had discovered there was a Jew on the premises.

The park rangers were walking around and making all of the tanners leave as well, and one woman told Brittany and I if she saw us with our phones or ipods again she was going to fine us. Apparently it’s a $250 charge for each electronic device brought into the pool, which is completely unfair because that’s probably equivalent to rent for most of the patrons.

I decided to ask a less bitchy looking lifeguard why we were being told to vacate the premises, and he said that everyone had to leave until the pool re-opened at 4. At this point I was fed up with the indignity of the situation, and after an obligatory hair flip said that I would never receive this type of mistreatment from the Soho House pool.

Needless to say the guard was not amused.