I Can Barely Take Care of Myself by Jen Kirkman Page A

bad for tattling on anyone so I made a joke. “I mean, I’m so bad with guessing ages. They could be thirty for all I know and just really skinny.”
    The waitress smiled and said, “Well, yeah. This is the adult pool.” And withthat she turned on her heel to leave.
    I summoned all of my courage. “Oh, ma’am? Um, can you come back for a second? Um, is there someone we can talk to about this? I mean, they’re not doing anything wrong, but it is the adult pool and we don’t care if they’re here in general but there is a sign that says no one under eighteen can be here. I mean, it’s not my rule. It’s yours.”
    The waitress said,“I’ll get a manager.”
    As she walked away, Sarah high-fived me. “Best passive-aggressive comment of all time. ‘It’s not my rule. It’s yours.’ Yes!”
    I started to get excited because I noticed a young couple sitting on the edge of the pool, listening to our conversation. I assumed that they also wanted to go into the pool but couldn’t because of Ashley, Jessica, and the rest of the Inner Tube Gang.I made eye contact with them as I said to Sarah, “I mean, at least the manager is on the way, because we have to say something. These kids shouldn’t be in the adult pool!” I think I expected the young couple to stand up and applaud like congresspeople approving my presidential declaration about the state of the adult pool. They looked away from me and started whispering and giggling in each other’sears. I wanted to yell at them, “Oh, fine. Make fun of me. But I’m fighting for all of our rights! Even if you honeymooners change your mind and have kids later in life—right now this is our time by the Hibiscus Pool!”
    A manager who looked like he was too young to be allowed in the adult pool himself approached us. He said, “What’s going on? Are the kids bothering you guys?”
    “Well, no . . . ,” Sarah said. “Not exactly.”
    “They’re really well behaved,” I said, trying to sound very maternal. “But it’s just that this is the adult pool and technically they shouldn’t be here. We paid extra money for these cabanas in the quiet area and it’s not very quiet.”
    A toddler ran by with her wet feet slapping against the concrete. One slip and her head would split open like a dropped coconut.I gripped my lounge chair, feeling helpless, and blurted out, “Oh my God. Be careful. Be careful, honey.” I turned to the teenage manager. “See?” I pleaded. “I can’t handle this.”
    He said, “Okay. I’ll talk to someone about it,” and scurried away, passing the hot tub full of leering boys without saying a word.
    Our cabana quickly became Child Watch Headquarters. Sarah and I grabbed our laptopsand took advantage of the free WiFi connection. We got to work. I took to Twitter and started tweeting to the Grand Wailea hotel, asking them, “What’s your policy on kids whocrash the adult pool? We have a situation here.” Sarah got the general manager’s information off the Grand Wailea website. She picked up her BlackBerry, made a call, and left a very stern message with the general manager’sassistant.
    “What did she say?” I asked.
    “She said that he’d call me back later today. She wouldn’t take down my cell phone number. She said he could just call me back in the room.”
    The general manager would return a customer’s complaint call to her room? Who sits in her room in the middle of the day when she’s on vacation in sunny Maui? You know who should be sitting in their room in the middleof the day—parents and their toddlers. Those kids need a nap.
    I’d had enough bullshit. I was going to take a bullet for my partner in Child Watch crime. “You wait here, Sarah. I’m going in and there’s no need for you to see this.” I put on my sandals and angrily flip-flopped off toward the check-in desk to confront the person who had handed me two plush towels that morning.
    The towel girl wassuspiciously nice and she said that