Italian Pool Rules

Being slightly unorthodox in several ways, one of them has to do with my swim bag. I am teaching my uncle, a recently retired neurologist, how to swim at the old club that I used to swim at many years ago. After our workout, we were sitting in the hot tub and the topic of tics, both voluntary and involuntary came up. I used the example of my usage of hand gestures when I speak, something I picked up while living in Italy. The joke is, "how do you stop an Italian from speaking?" "Cut off his hands..." Yep, we're going high brow today, folks. So, we decided that is a voluntary tic on my part as I could stop it if necessary, just as I will have to learn how to not eat with my left hand when I get to India.

So, my apparent swim bag issue then must fall along the lines of a voluntary tic as well. It is something that I found out is pretty much like farting in public when I lived in Italy. Despite being a high-level and daily swimmer for the majority of my life, I have rarely had a "proper" swim bag. Usually I just have old canvas bags either from James Joyce conferences, the Sierra Club, or an Italian grocery store. Currently, I have a canvas bag from the National Wildlife Federation and a plastic bag from Del Haize, which is the Belgian grocery store chain that is known as Food Lion in the States.

Now, it being somewhat of a "tic," I don't really notice these things until I see people's reactions. Basically the first three days I came into the club/gym, the person behind the counter looked at my bag collection and drily asked, "Can I help you?" This would be endearing if it was a different person each day, but it is the same guy, and he recognizes me...

OK, level one passed. Go into the dressing room, feeling somewhat self-conscious and then level two self-conscious arrives. I really get the looks from the corn-fed true-grit 'Mericans in the locker room giving me the fuzzy eyeball. I then notice that on the plastic bag from Del Haize, there is a large fuchsia heart on it, with the logo in English, despite being from Belgium, blaring gaily out, "I love my Bag!" Someone coughed in the distance, "Kabosshhh!"

This reminded me of my first swim meet with my Italian team in Bologna. I had the typical array of bag lady surplus on me and I entered the swim hall. Needless to say, you could hear a penne drop. All heads turned. All, highly-coifed, runway-ready heads turned.

What, me worry?

In Italy, the number one rule is how you look, no matter what you are doing. In Castiglione Fiorentino, one of the street sweepers was an attractive young blonde woman who was usually sporting designer sunglasses and makeup. True story. I have witnesses.

One of the more stringent requirements at any public pool in Italy is the mandatory usage of a swim cap, which I almost never have worn in all my years of swimming. I once saw a bagnino, life guard, argue for 15 minutes, waving arms, with a BALD guy about not having a swim cap. True story. I have witnesses.

At the pool then for a swim meet, there are two more accessories that any swimmer worth his salt would not be caught dead without, a professional swim bag and a designer robe. I had a canvas bag and a monogrammed towel from 25 years ago with AAC on it and my initials in the corner.

Dead silence.

In their heads, every Italian was thinking, "Ma, dai, che cozzo stai faciendo? Che brutta figura!" Which is Italian for, "Kabosh."