| 01 June 2006
Deep Blue
I was floating in the pool shortly before closing. My conditioning program is moving along nicely. I have not showed my pool pass to the lifeguard since the first day. I have been careful to position myself in the deep end, right in the middle, remaining there until a minute or so before closing, getting him used to the fact that I expect him to remain at his post until closing time.
No early closings. There is nothing more disappointing than hurtling across town to get home for a cleansing plunge and find the black metal gate locked, denied the pleasure of the blue water glittering in the glow of the underwater lights.
Last night, Igor was bustling around, taking down the umbrellas and stacking them neatly near the wall where the diving board used to be until the insurance company got huffy and threatened to raise the rates unless it was removed.
“Why are you doing that?” I asked him, stroking smoothly to stay perfectly level in the blue water.
“They could blow down in a big storm,” answered Igor.
“There is no storm, Igor. The sky is clear.”
“Peter says the storm season starts tomorrow and I must, so I do.”
The logic was unassailable. Peter is the manager of the company that provides central management service for most of the community pools in this part of Arlington. He was a visionary when he founded the Deep Blue pool company, back in the day, and revolutionized life around the pools in North Arlington. Every building had a pool, competing for the high school kids to come sit and be bored under the umbrellas, meeting the insurance company requirements. Peter saw a need, and he filled it.
In the process, he outsourced lifesaving to Middle Europe, and we grew accustomed to swimming after college classes ended in the former Czechoslovakia.
Peter is handsome man with a leonine mane of chestnut-brown hair that flows over his muscular shoulders and down over his tan and sculpted torso. He must have driven the ladies nuts when he was a full-time lifeguard.
Peter was the mastermind who figured out that he could take care of multiple pools by himself, and sell his management service back to the harried building managers, keeping the pH factor in the water perfect at all times, and manage the lifeguard shift schedule centrally.
He is a hard taskmaster. The shifts are twelve hours, six days a week, with a floater to cover the seventh day. We don't see him very much anymore, the CEO of Deep Blue, but he still rides a bike and he does not have to work inside.
I don't know if Peter figured out the immigration scheme himself, or read about it in a magazine at poolside. But in the process of keeping enough chlorine in his water empire, he began the importation of lifeguards to shave expenses and improve his top line.
Peter specializes in college students from the Czech Republic. He scoops up likely candidates in Budapest, ensures that they can speak a little English, gets them certified in lifesaving, arranges their travel and contracts for lodging in one of the buildings a little past its prime in Rosslyn. He also manages the visa process, which is complex.
Peter is scrupulous about the paperwork, just as he is about the quality of his water.
“Well, we want to keep Peter happy,” I said, paddling, eyeing the clock, calculating the last possible second I could remain in the water. 'What do you do back home?”
Igor stopped arranging the yellow chairs around the tables. He looked at me in the water and said:
“I am completing medical school.”
“So it is Doctor Igor?”
“Not yet. I had to slow down my classes a little so I could come to America. They will not issue the work visa if you are in your last year of school.”
“So next year. Doctors are wealthy people here.”
“Yes, but not in a socialist state where everyone expects free medical care.”
“Do you want to come here?”
“Of course. But the visa is complex. I just want to go to San Francisco at the end of the summer.”
“That is a great town. They need Doctors there.”
Igor smiled down at me from the pool deck. I was minutes past closing, and he hadn't noticed a thing.
“It is a matter I will investigate. But first I must make Peter happy.”
“Of course,” I said, and began to slowly swim to the side of the pool, a full five minutes after closing. The season was starting out well indeed.
Copyright 2006 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
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