Frosh pollutants

I would like to preface this rant by revealing to you that this September marks the first September since 1990 when I do not get a back-to-school haircut, buy a new pencil case and plan my first-day-of-school outfit, because-- THANK FUCKING GOD-- I am not going back to school. I am a Graduate of the Arts with a fistful of dreams, bound for success.

You may, then, feel compelled to peg the complaint that follows as resentment towards those who do get to go to Staples to buy a bunch of shit they already have but are too lazy to find. I assure you, however, that this is not the case.

The problem is this:

MY POOL IS INFESTED WITH COLLEGE BOYS.

WHAT THE FUCK HAS HAPPENED?!?!

My darling, tiny, retiree-populated public pool that offers classical music alongside its free swim was brimming with chattering boys who treated the ends of the lanes as though they were the benches of an Estonian steam room.

For those of you who don't know, this place is my sanctuary. I live BESIDE the YMCA and I bike TWELVE WHOLE MINUTES to get to this secret pool to avoid these bulky masses who can barely float.

Yet, on this momentous it's-September-I-need-to-get-back-in-shape-after-my-summer-internship-at-my-dady's-law-firm day, getting through my 30-minute was torturous, as each lap was book-ended by "Yeah I used to do Triathlons back at Camp," and "Yo, Stu, bro, if you wanna go on that pub crawl tomorrow lemme know, K?"

THEY DON'T EVEN SWIM.
THEY JUST SIT THERE.
FLOATING.


...AND THEY DO NOT KNOW POOL ETIQUETTE!

NO CAPS ARE BIG ENOUGH FOR THE RAGE I AM FEELING!


Usually, the old lady who only does back stroke whilst wearing her bi-focals pisses me right off because even the designated 'frolicking' lane is too speedy for her. Today, however, she was greatly missed.

Bi-focal babe, come back...
Froshies, go have drunken, protected* sex.