Oh S**t!

Hey, looky there.  Is that an open lifeguard tower I see?  Well  I think I'll just romp right up that ramp of hers and give her a good ol' Howdy-do!

There are reasons why lifeguards have a genuine dislike of people just charging up the tower ramps with their questions or overwhelming need to be friendly.  It's intrusive - think barging into my house uninvited.  It's presumptive.  The base of the ramp is like a door.  Knock, and then wait for us to answer - figuratively speaking, of course.  And we don't need you disturbing us during a call of nature.  

Did I just mention a call of nature?  Did I?  Yep.  I bet you never thought of that.  You go to work.  You have your mandatory lunch breaks.  You can hang by the water cooler, or grab a cup of joe.  Most importantly, you can drain the main vein whenever you feel even remotely compelled to do so.

I suppose you think we get bathroom breaks, right, because eight - ten hours is a long time to hold it?  Uh-uh, no bathroom breaks for the lifeguards.  Do we hold it?  We try, but as athletic as we are there is a limit to our endurance, especially when it comes to the bladder or the bowels.

So then, what do we do?  As you know, we do drink a lot of water...

Heads up folks, for those of you moderately squeamish, it's about to get uncomfortable.

So I am working.  It's a regular day - not too busy.  I'm struck with an urge to purge.  What do I do?  First, it is a big ocean.  Before you rush to judgment remember this, the ocean is teeming with life large and small.  None of them have toilets, sinks, or bidets.  The whales are not singing in the shower.  The lionfish aren't crouching in the litter box.  Contrary to the popular aphorism, all marine life poop where they eat.  We swim in it.  And as an "evolved" society, we've gotten quite good dumping our dumps in the same grand ocean.  We just feel better about ourselves because we "treat" the sewage.  As if that makes everything so much better.  It doesn't.  Not really.

But back to the lifeguard.  I'm doing the crossed-legged dance.  I can't disco all day so a quick dip cools me off, cleans me out, and puts me back in the comfort zone.  Sometimes a rescue provides a perfect moment for release.  More often than not, due to the adrenaline surge and the urgency surrounding the moment, I return to my tower in the same bladder-bloated state I left it in, which brings me to option number two.

The piss bottle.  Yes, it is exactly as described.  A bottle.  For piss.

Ugh, right?

Although most towers have a container specifically designated for this purpose, I carry my own.  I bring it to work with me everyday.  I often fill it, cap it off, then return home to flush the fluid down the toilet (which, ironically, ultimately sends it to the ocean).  I am somewhat unique in this approach to the elimination of the bottle's contents.  What do other guards do?  Well, the ocean is within walking distance of the towers...

Oh, and yes, both wide-mouth bottles and good aim are preferred.  For both sexes.

And now we come to the number two.  Hoo boy...

Crazy as it sounds, all guards are quite accomplished in coordinating their "movements" with their work schedules.  I get up early, get rid of dinner, eat breakfast, and hopefully pass some of brekkie before heading off to work.  By the time I return home I'm ready for round three.  Anyone uncomfortable yet?  Because if you are, it gets better.  Sometimes a late night interrupts my circadian rhythm.

If I find myself in that predicament, the first thing I do is hope that I am working near a public toilet and that the activity is slow.  If I am so fortunate, I get permission to retreat to the commode.  Before leaving, I notify my surrounding towers so that they can cover my water while I am gone.  Then I scoot and wrap things up as quickly as possible.  No magazines or Uncle John's Bathroom Reader.  At any moment things may change in the water and the last thing I need to be is caught with my suit around my ankles.  I've got a story about that.

If option one is not available then I hope I can outlast my body's constant demands.  Difficult?  Yes because my body is insistent and very persuasive.  The experience is unpleasant as well, but not nearly as unpleasant as the final option.

Should all else fail, I will find myself staring the rarely used third approach in the face.  The emergency toilet kit.  I'll spare you the graphic detail and simply note this.  The port-a-toilets that you take camping with you?  Same thing, except ours involves a plastic bag and a tower trash can.  Crap in a sack.  Literally.

And just so you know, while this task is being undertaken, I am still watching the water.  I'm hoping BEYOND HOPE that someone doesn't chose that specific moment to get in harm's way or come up my ramp.  Because that would suck.  And in case you are wondering - nope, it hasn't happened to me yet.  I really work on my body's rhythm.

As for that story I mentioned?  We have an award.  It is called the "Oh, Shit!" award, and is given every year to the guard that had the best (or worst for that matter) "Oh, Shit!" moment of the summer.  There have been some doozies some of which I will share in the future.  The one that originated the award went something like this:

The day had been busy but there had been a long break in the action.  The water was empty and the guard in question really had to use the head as he didn't want to use his emergency toilet kit.  He got permission to do so.  He alerted the surrounding towers.  He uncomfortably hoofed it back to the toilet and found that much needed relief.  Unfortunately it was short lived because right in the middle of his throne time he heard the approaching wail of multiple sirens.  He shot out of the bathroom and turned the corner to see that every available guard was in the water and more were on their way via boats and trucks.  In the brief moment that he was away, maybe three minutes or so, a large party of swimmers had jumped in the water the exact same moment a huge rip current had flared.  The rip had pulled all the novice swimmers to deep water and they were all actively drowning.

Oh, SHIT!   He hit the water too.  A streamer of toilet paper trailing behind (not really, but a great image).  Everyone was rescued, but Toilet Tom got a whole ration of shit for taking a shit when the shit hit the fan.  The award was born.  Not surprisingly, it is a toilet seat.

No lunch breaks.  No toilet breaks.  Skin cancer as a bonus.  Still want to be a lifeguard?

© Copyright 2011 David S. Carpenter.  All Rights Reserved.