The Green Lagoon, Part 3

The Green Lagoon, Part 3

Quentin Smeltzer, SmeltzerNation 7/18/10

Leave it to the professionals: that’s my motto.  If you want a robust economy, elect Republicans.  If you want accurate news reporting, tune in to FOX.  If you want safe, clean energy, turn to BP.  So I awoke heartened Saturday morning by the knowledge that a professional was on the job.  I had hired Mike, from Joe’s Pool Maintenance (not his real name), to eradicate the ugly, green, algae slick that had consumed the waters of our own little gulf, off the coast of our back deck. 

Mike had asked for a down payment on his quote.  I was thinking fifty dollars.  Mike was thinking one hundred.  “You can post-date the check,” he offered.  I was thinking post-date it to the coming Friday.  Mike was thinking Monday.  As Monday was the first day he could cash the check, this wasn’t much of a post date.  But one more glance at the angry, green invader destroying our summer told me this was no time to split hairs. 

Saturday came and went, but no sign of Mike.  Sunday was the same story.  I continued to poor shock into the pool each night, ignoring the possibility that I might accidentally clean the pool and Mike might get the credit and the cash.  This was no time for pettiness.  Like Obama when he first took office, I didn't mind who took the credit.  I wanted to work together.   A good result would be a good result.

When Monday morning turned into Monday afternoon, with still no sign of Mike, I called Joe’s Pool Maintenance.  No one answered, of course, this being one of those types of business that doesn’t need customers and thrives on torturing the pool fools who insist on being one.  I left a message that more or less said the down payment I had given Mike was not to buy chrome polish for his Hummer.  Crazy thought, but I was actually hoping their man might show up and work on the pool.

On Tuesday morning Allah smiled upon me and Mike appeared, this time driving a spanking new Ford Super Duty F-450 King Ranch pickup truck in gleaming burgundy, with a blinding chrome grill and matching, twenty-inch wheels.  Ford’s website says the base price for this truck is sixty-two thousand dollars, making me wonder, yet again, why no one ever told me that the real money isn’t in computers, law or medicine; it’s in dealing with the stuff that doctors, lawyers and programmers can’t handle. 

Happy to see Mike’s newfound practicality, and even happier that he had actually appeared, I ignored the fact that he came in tow with a barefoot, four-year-old girl wearing a stained, pink, party dress.  She had long black hair and soulful eyes and only stared at me when I asked her name.

Still, I was eager to see Mike get to work.  But first, it seemed, we needed to have a little talk... 

Evidently not pleased with the phone message I had left, Mike informed me that he is Joe’s Pool service.  Mike is Joe; got it.  He also told me he is Joe’s Plumbing, Joe’s Electrical, Joe’s Handyman, etc.  For any job, up to and including building a nuclear reactor in my basement, Joe was the man.  Or Mike was.  Good to know. 

Mike set about pouring chemicals into the pool and barking orders at me.  I needed to clean the pool filter.  I needed to vacuum the pool.  If I did all of the manual labor, Mike assured me, he would take care of the rest. 

Mike guaranteed me that we would see a fifty percent improvement in the pool by Wednesday and then mounted the ascent to his pickup truck driver’s seat.  The silent, little girl clambered up the other side like a Sherpa's daughter, and off they rumbled.

Wednesday morning dawned and we opened the blinds to see... pretty much the same, copper green water as the day before.  Over the next few days Mike appeared at odd moments to pour chemicals into the pool and swear about our filter or the water pressure in our garden hose.  He offered to work on our plumbing.  I suggested we focus on the pool.  “If this was easy,” I reminded him, “we wouldn’t need a professional.” 

Mike bit his lip and departed.  But not before insisting the third step of our pool was now visible instead of only the top two.  Well… maybe. 

Apparently the Green Monster was proving too much for our local entrepreneur.  Days went by with no sign of Mike.  A heat wave struck and my son and I swam in the green slime and showered thoroughly thereafter.  My wife refused to go in and only glowered at me as she dabbed at the beads of sweat forming beneath her dark bangs.

 

To be continued…