Fucking Pool Logbook

Aidan on the Beach

About ten years ago, my wife and I met my sister and her husband on a Caribbean island for some family fun to help get us through the cold New England winter. Whenever Aunt Jeannine visits her nephews, her arrival is on par with the second coming. For weeks I answer just one question,

"When is Aunt Jeannine coming?"

Nothing else matters to our boys when there is a pending visit by Aunt Jeannine. Now we were escaping the winter for a warmer climate and while all that was great meeting up with Aunt Jeannine was the anticipated pinnacle of the trip.

We got to the island first and met Kevin, a retired Bronx NYPD detective, for the key to the house we were renting. Kevin worked for the management company that handled everything. We were a few minutes late because on this Caribbean island the roads were not named and the houses were not numbered. The first words out of Kevin's mouth were,

"You know if every appointment I had was five minutes late I wouldn't get home until midnight."

Christine, ever the logical thinker, explained, "Actually if every appointment you had was five minutes late at the end of the day you would be five minutes late."

However true Kevin still looked annoyed as he twisted open the lock to the house. He was a heavy set scraggly dude who resembled Al Pacino except he was bald. Kevin gave me a quick rundown of the house, then he hastily exited for the pool deck.

"This is the pool," Kevin exclaimed.

I'm glad he explained that because I wasn't sure what that big hole full of water was for. Now that Kevin pointed out that it was the pool it made more sense. He moved briskly to a mouse infested pump room where all the pool equipment was located.

"This is the switch for the filter. It's off now. Don't turn it on," Kevin commanded, then he continued, "This switch is for the waterfall. Just keep that off."

"Okay, " I noted.

"These are the pool lights. You can use them, but it's better if you don't."

"Okay great Kevin thanks," I answered.

Kevin held up a tattered notebook that was tethered to the pump.

The Logbook

"This is the logbook for the pool. Don't touch it," he warned.

On vacation I don't exactly have a lot of patience for that kind of tour so I did what I could to get Kevin on his way. The minute he left I turned on the waterfall because the management company advertised a pool with a waterfall on their website. I thought of leafing through the sacred pool logbook and maybe drawing some superheroes, but I decided swimming in the pool with my family would be more fun. Maybe later.

My sister and her husband arrived the next day, and we all had a wonderful visit. On the way back home we said our goodbyes and hugged in the small Caribbean airport. As we waited for our plane to board I got a phone call.

"Hello," I answered.

"Yeah, Robert. Kevin." Kevin proceeded, "I told you not to touch the fucking logbook."

My first thought was that this former Bronx detective had watched a security video of me drawing action figures in the pool logbook, but then I realized I forgot all about it.

"I'm not sure what you mean," I answered.

"You know what I mean. The fucking pool logbook!" Kevin blared.

Now I know how to handle cops. I saw it countless times on YouTube. A lot of people don't realize when an armed police officer asks you a question you don't have to answer, ever. The founding fathers were smart enough to ink into the Constitution the Fifth Amendment that states you don't have to help the cops collect evidence against you. So I was about to exercise my Fifth Amendment right under the Constitution when Kevin declared,

"I know you picked it up when you packed your bags."

Sure like I went out to the mouse infested pump room and snatched the pool logbook, and stuffed it in my luggage. I tried to take the pump as well, but it was too big.

"I'll check when I get home. All our luggage is on the plane," I explained.

"Oh, that's just great," Kevin retorted.

"I'll check our luggage when I get it back," I assured.

"I know you have the fucking logbook. I looked everywhere," he exclaimed.

When I was younger I likely would have told ole NYPD Detective Kev to try looking up his ass, but the years have mellowed me far more than they have this Bronx gumshoe barking accusations at me.

"I'll check when we land," I said.

"You do that," Kevin said, then he hung up.

"Who was that?" Christine asked.

"Kevin, he lost the logbook to the pool. He thinks we took it," I answered.

Christine waved off interest as she silently communicated the same adjective Kevin used so frequently to describe the pool logbook. When we retrieved our luggage at the local airport back home, I zipped open the largest suitcase.

"You're gonna look through our luggage right here?" Christine protested.

She was right. No matter how important the logbook was it was not worth pawing through our dirty underwear in public. I went through our luggage when we got back to the car, then I called Kevin.

"I didn't find it," I said.

"I know you have that fucking logbook which is very important because it has the whole history of the pool in it," Kevin recited.

Imagine that. The whole history of the pool from its humble beginnings as a mud hole to the glorious waterfall that you're not supposed to use all in that one easy to read book.

"Well, it's not in our luggage," I stated.

"I know you have it. You want me to fucking fly up there and search myself because I will," Kevin exclaimed.

I thought of saying, "Sure, Kev, that would be great. Jump on the next plane to Connecticut with a valid search warrant, and I'll let you look through my wife's luggage. In fact you can search our whole house. Christine will make scones, and I'll grind some of my choice coffee beans. We'll make a day of it."

Instead I offered, "Well, let me check with my sister."

"Oh, that's what happened. Your God damn sister has the fucking pool logbook," Kevin spewed.

"Okay I'll let you know," I said as I hung up.

"He still didn't find it?" Christine asked.

"No, but his investigation is focusing on my sister. You know how she's always pilfering logbooks whenever we go anywhere with her," I mused.

At this point if the pool logbook surfaced anywhere in my possession I would have used to start a fire in the hearth. I called my sister as we drove. She had left hours before us and was already home.

"The what?" Jeannine asked.

"The logbook for the pool," I explained.

"Why would I have that?" she asked emphatically.

"I don't know. Inspector Kevin lost it. He's convinced one of us took it."

"Like I went into Mickey's Pump House just to score the logbook?"

"It was tied to the pump so I have no idea how it got lost."

"Tell Lieutenant Dan find his own logbook."

"Well, the thing is he keeps calling it the 'fucking pool logbook.'"

"Tell him to check his own ass."

You can tell she's my sister. So I dreaded calling Kevin because I was certain he was going to scramble his old buddies on the NYPD SWAT team to shake me down for his precious pool logbook. I dialed his number.

"No luck, Kevin. My sister doesn't have it," I said.

"I found it," he muttered then hung up.

I stood there holding the phone to my ear as Christine lazily looked out the car window.

"Oh, don't worry about it Kevin. I know how important the pool logbook is," I said then added, "Yeah, we really enjoyed ourselves."

Christine focused on my one-sided conversation.

"Wow! Terrorists stole the pool logbook? That's scary. You caught them? Good collar," I rambled, "Death penalty? Holy cow! Well, it is the whole history of the pool. Okay, thanks."

After pretending to hang up, I looked briefly to Christine as we drove home.

"Al Qaeda stole the pool logbook, but Kevin nabbed them," I relayed.

Christine looked unamused.

"What really happened?" She asked.

"I don't know. He found it somewhere."

To this day we don't know how the pool logbook became untethered from the pump and walked out of the mouse infested pump room on that small Caribbean island. We never went back. I did get an email from the management company thanking us for our patronage. They asked us to relay what they could have done better. I told them,

"Heavier string on the fucking pool logbook."

Editor's Note: Originally posted on November 29, 2016.