Diary of a Pool Cleaner

Because I Take Pride In My Fucking Job

Tuesday, February 22, 2005

Fucking Animals

Now that the festivites have come and gone, I have to say that I now understand what Jon was worried about. Despite my eager-most attention, his mates and other party attendees managed to completely fucking trash the pool I'd worked so hard to get sparkling in the first place. I mean, you wouldn't fucking believe the kind of shit these people put in that pool. There were beer cans, under-pants, used condoms (!), a copy of Atlantic Monthly, two Barbie dolls, 15 or so guitar picks, a long piece of string (nobody's figured out how Cher made it home in the nude) and an un-opened juice box (mixed fruit punch, in case you're curious). And that's not even counting the other various items of fucking clothing and other hair accessories. It's taken me half the fucking day just to ladel out this fucking shit, let alone break out the kit (titanium alloy, like the kind of stuff they use on the space shuttle, you know) and start scrubbing away the residue.

What is this fucking world coming to, when people treat a perfectly clean, sparkling pool like this? This is the sort of thing that separates us from the fucking animals, after all. We're not monkeys, like those kind that fling their shit all over the place. We're fucking upright, intelligent beings who should have a better appreciation of the basic human needs, like really clean water to fucking swim in.

This has just left me so depressed. The burden of fucking realising there are people out there who don't share my passion...who will never understand...who just...I just can't...

Excuse me. I need to spend a little time alone with myself.

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