Pool season—the magical time when the neighborhood’s sense of entitlement blooms right alongside the dandelions. For most, a backyard pool is a reprieve from the heat and a testament to chlorine-choked privacy. For others, it’s apparently a public works project, generously funded by your mortgage but open to every kid within a five-house radius and their suspiciously unsupervised snack habits.
Following last year’s trespassapalooza starring one neighbor’s entire extended family and a supporting cast of boundary issues, discretion is now the name of the game. No more chatty pool-opening countdowns; only trusted friends and a strict RSVP list know when the pool’s truly in session.
Security cameras now monitor the “splash zone,” not to catch raccoons, but for that doubtful look when certain locals appear with floaties already strapped.
Here enters the neighborhood ambassador of entitlement, who, upon hearing the new rules, decides to declare you “selfish” for not upholding the tradition set by the previous homeowners-slash-unwilling lifeguards. Evidently, property lines and private ownership are no match for nostalgia-induced outrage, especially as he waves around a “community right to swim” that exists only in his sunbaked imagination.
Yes, the fences are up, the cameras are rolling, and the only cannonballs this summer will be performed by invitation only. Some traditions are meant to end—preferably at the edge of your own pool.
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