Meet Brooke - she’s the 17 year old overzealous lifeguard at your pool. Brooke may be spending her summer weekend nights getting drunk on the peach Schnapps at the back of her parents’ liquor cabinet, but during the days she’s drunk on power. She wields that whistle with the hair-trigger sensitivity of a sniper. Only 2 weeks into pool season and she has all the 11-and-under’s terrified to run. They all look like little power-walking Karens hustling their way around that pool. The other day one of the moms tried to sneak a bottle of champagne in her cooler for mimosas. She tried so hard to be discreet but the pop of the cork signaled VIOLATION. Brooke’s head swiveled to the side and she spotted the offending bottle, issuing a sharp “No glass”. Well, not sharp exactly. It was monotone like the way she orders “Walk” Or “No chicken fights” Or “Adult swim”. Like a bored 17 year old but yet there must be more to her. What light dances in the eyes behind those aviators? What secrets lie beneath that stern lifeguard poker face? The shrill squeal of her whistle is her calling card, and sunburned, stinging-eyed children coked up on popsicles are her flock. She will prevent aggressive dunking...sometimes. She will not let you dive, will not let you run, will not speak to anyone. No she does not babysit, stop asking. But with that killer tan, red bathing suit and a solemn countenance she is a beacon of strength and obedience. Thank you Lifeguard Brooke, you unsung hero! 🎖
As Courtney was handed the rule pamphlet, she swore she saw the Da Vinci code. Symbols swirled around, English words became foreign and strange. She somehow now knows how to set up a VCR after reading them, but still does not quite understand how to win atMahjong.
Last week she ordered each of them one of those gadgets that shatters your car window in case of a full water immersion. She also ordered a wind up radio. You know, in case the power grid goes down. She changed the air filters in the house last month, and commented that Olive Garden is a heck of a deal if you get a family sized pan with a five dollar take-home add-on. She’s been cracking open a Bud heavy after yoga class lately, and finally decided to try out a MyPillow.
But here she sits, six years after her appointment with WIDK reporting on milk prices, beauty pageants, the occasional car theft, Alderman election scandals, and downtown green space clean up efforts. This stupid little town doesn’t deserve her. She’s meant for greatness, and she despises their perky greetings on the streets....
