This one guy was a regular, came in early almost every day so he could claim the same stool, two seats in from the front door, away from the afternoon sunlight. He worked at this spa and pool store a few blocks away, standing at the crusty edge of the old part of the city, the netherworld blocks that formed the boundary between gentrification and decay.
These were the battleground blocks, and that was where all the fun was, and one of the reasons was guys like this hairy, oily, pool man meeting up with the incoming gentry in truce places like this netherworld bar.
He’d corner one and wangle them into asking about water conditions, about heat and clean and other things; then he’d hitch himself up, sitting tall on his stool, and he’d start in. “Will there be vaginas in your water? That’s what I always ask ‘em when they come in wonderin’ about what kinda chemicals they need. Vaginas, they suck all the clean outta any water they’re in, so when they’re in there, ya gotta be prepared for nasty, and add your chemicals accordingly, ya know.”
And the polite little gentry guy, he'd just nod and nod.
And there was this one gentry, a little guy with glasses, and when his head finished nodding, he looked up at the pool and spa man and said, "Well . . . I don't know. I'd like to think that sometimes I might share the water with a, uh, vagina or two, you know, once in a while. So, how about this: how about you tell me what chemicals you'd use -- if it was just you, all alone in your pool on a regular, no party night. See, I reckon if I take what you'd use, just for you alone, and back it off a little bit, that'll be perfect for me, 'cause, you know, I'm pretty sure you're the filthiest pussy I'll ever meet."
Opening: Robin S......Continuation: Anon.