Fucking bee’s man. It didn’t help I was a wearing sunflower yellow shirt. Every couple seconds another one coming straight at you with their stupid buzzy eyes and sharp asses. Poor Gary is allergic, guy might end up with unnatural swollen extremities like a Kardashian.
There’s definitely snakes in that grass too and possibly west nile in that canoe. It’s hot as shit, I’m squinting, I can’t see, forgot sunscreen and might leave with hepatitis from the pile of pool sludge we need to bucket out of the deep end. There’s something about the smell that emits from an overloaded bucket full of east coast pool dookie roasting in the hot sun that makes 200,000 years of human evolution come screaming through your frontal lobe to get the fuck away. It had rained the day before and there was quite a bit of water left.
We had a couple plastic buckets, a squeegee, a snow shovel and one of those brute garbage cans on wheels from an old high school cafeteria. The can had a thick rope tied around it, one end was anchored to the steps in the shallow end and the other fastened around its waist in the deep end. Johnny, Zach, Eric and Stephanie would load the brute can up with water using the smaller plastic buckets and a snow shovel while Theo, Gary and I would pull it up to the shallow end the way you would pull a fat kid from a well. We then wheeled it over to the shallow end steps, carried it up the stairs and dumped it. The can had cracks in it that would piss water out the side, we taped them closed. It didn’t work. Once the last of the filth was out we waited for it to dry.
Soon enough paint chips were flying from the corners and the acoustics of 55mm spitfires bounced from the walls. It was worth it, always is.