Unlike most post-vacation trauma, my re-absorption into the daily grind was pretty painless this time. i’ve maintained a remarkable mellow state of mind, despite flights and airports and stupid, cranky travel people all around me. My daughter noticed that i’m substantially less irritable.
That was until i made a trek to my pool earlier this week. The pool is a nice place to just vegetate, when not infested with the Yappy Broads, or the Whiney Family. Returning from an easy bike ride after work, my bike buddy and i noted that the pool was deserted, and it might be a good time for a splash.
Changing quickly, we walked the short distance down the road, and i put my key in the door. The lock didn’t turn. Trying several more times, i jiggled the knob* to no avail.
daisyfae: Those motherfuckers have changed the lock while i was gone! Son of a fucking geriatric bitch, they’ve changed the locks without notice!
i went off, in a big way. Ranting about the Pool Nazis, part of the Condo Association board that frequently gets on my nerves, i was infuriated that they could change the locks without notice, or providing new keys. Given the control tactics executed over parking and using the proper color of stain on exterior decks, it shouldn’t have surprised me. The pool had been far more crowded this year, and perhaps they had decided keys had been leaked to the unwashed masses.
Not taking this well, i decided we were going to climb the fence and have a swim anyway. Sending my bike buddy over the spiked wrought iron fence first**, i held his beer as he hoisted himself over the top, and climbed down the other side. He was able to go through the clubhouse building, and let me in the front.
Still angry, we had a nice splash in the pool, while i continued to spew vile commentary about the uptight pig-fuckers that manage the association. Spitting beer into the water, it felt good to defile it. Oh, the angry phone call the bastards would get first thing Friday morning! As i ranted and splashed, a couple of teenagers came through the door. Apparently they’d been issued new keys.
Shortly thereafter, one of the elderfucks also came through the door. This is the guy i think is in charge of the non-existent newsletter – which hasn’t been distributed since his Radio Shack TRS-80 computer went on the fritz about a year ago. Wasting no time, i confronted him as politely as i could.
daisyfae: When did they change the lock for the clubhouse? My key no longer works.
Elderfuck [looking confused]: I don’t know. I had to get a new key a few weeks ago because I’d lost mine. I hadn’t heard about the locks being changed.
Still cranky, we finished up the swim and headed out. As i left, i decided to try the lock once more. It worked perfectly.
Oops. Never mind…
* No. Not like that.
** Because he has longer legs. And i’m not stupid, even when enraged…