I can’t get past how disgusting it is to see a bandaid floating in the pool or stuck to the bottom when I’m swimming laps. GROSS.
I don’t understand why people wear them into the pool in the first place. Hello. The giant sign on the wall that spells out the pool rules clearly says that you’re not supposed to go into the pool with an open wound. If your wound is open enough to need a bandaid, then DON’T GO IN THE POOL. If you’re a rule-breaker and are going in anyway, then take the damn bandaid off!
How hard is that? Take it off.
Last night, there was a huge one floating near the bottom of the deep end (I was thankful for the several feet of chlorine between it and me). There’s no way that someone “forgot” to take that one off. It was six inches long. Or four. Whatever. It was too big to forget. It totally grossed me out.
It’s hard for me to stop thinking about things once I start. I see a bandaid, and suddenly, I’m thinking about how people pee in the pool and, holy hell, what if I accidentally ingest someone’s chest hair?!
I recently read an article in the Indianapolis Star about a formerly invitation-only pool that’s now opening its doors to new members. I’d never heard of this pool before, but now I want to join. The pool was apparently first a walled off pond created by the Lilly family in the 1930s. At some point, it was concreted and chlorine was added. And then it became a fancy pool that was invitation-only. I figure that anyone who pays $550 per year (plus a $175 initiation fee) to swim in a pool less than six months out of the year is likely too posh to pee in the pool. And they probably never wear bandaids.