The Ten Commandments (for visiting a waterpark)

The Ten Commandments

(for visiting a waterpark)

((or any other public attraction))

I. Thou shalt not leave thy cherry pits on the earth.

Or your peanut shells, or your pistachio shells, or your watermelon seeds. Yes, I know we’re technically outside, and so the urge is strong. “Hmm, I can just throw my shells / pits / seeds on the ground.” But no, you can’t. People walk there. It hurts when they step on hard pits and sharp shells. And other people have to go behind you sweeping up all that trash you left on the ground. Perhaps you think, “Hey, it’s all natural. It’ll compost!” Well…no again. See, whatever micro-organisms lived on the ground before the park was there were probably covered up when seventeen thousand tons of concrete was poured over them. Our paved walkways and fiberglass pools lack the proper biological life forms for composting anything, so that’s a bust. Do you throw shells on the floor at your house? I’m guessing probably not. So please don’t do it at the park either.

II. If thou hast thy kin at the park with thee, and the youngest of these must yet wear diapers, thou shalt use swim diapers.

Because regular diapers are NOT made to be soaked through, and definitely not for extended periods of time. I know, they’re a little more expensive than regular diapers, and store brands don’t usually make swim diapies, so you’re stuck with the price tag for name brand. But seriously, regular diapers are NOT made to be soaked through. They will fill with chlorinated water. They will swell to three times their normal size and make your child forty-two pounds heavier. And at the most inconvenient moment possible, they will burst, and their ooey-gooey sticky bead crystal thingies will spill forth onto the ground or the bathroom floor, and sit there like a ginormous pile of stinky shaved ice while you flee the scene of the crime. There is a distinct possibility that before I see the offending mess, someone will have complained to the manager about the state of the restroom, and I will have to make the walk of shame to clean up the diaper disaster not ten minutes after I left the restroom clean and sanitary.

III. Thou shalt use the little silver boxes in the restroom stalls only for their intended purpose.

This one gets gross, so I will not go into detail here. But, should you ever be tempted to stuff something in there that was clearly never intended to be stuffed in there, please refrain, for the sake of the custodian and for the sake of every person that uses that stall after you.

IV. Thou shalt wash thy hands after availing thyself of the facilities.

I know you’re about to jump back into water so loaded with chemicals you’d probably faint dead away if you knew about them all, but I can’t help thinking that if we were all dependable to be a little cleaner, maybe we wouldn’t need so many of those chemicals….?

V. Thou shalt choose a bathroom stall in ten seconds or less.

Ladies, this one is for you. There is no need to wander up and down the stalls, swinging the doors open, peeking inside, contemplating and wondering. They are all in a relatively similar state of cleanliness or uncleanliness. If you’re there when we open, there’s a good chance that your toilet of choice is sparkling clean. If you’re there in the middle of the day, then I’m sorry, but there is no way around it – at least a thousand butts have touched those seats. And I get it – you want the one that has been touched by the fewest and cleanest butts; there is, however, no way to tell. And honestly, I know we all like to think everyone else’s bottoms are gross while ours is sparkling clean, but it’s just not so. Hiney is hiney, and there comes a point in the day when every single toilet has been touched extensively by it. So as long as the toilet is flushed and there’s nothing gross on the floor (see Commandments Two and Three, above), just pick a stall and sit, and leave the rest to fate.

VI. Thou shalt not address the maintenance staff using combinations of adjectives and nouns.

I am not “Sweeper Girl.” I am also not “Blue Shirt Lady” or “Helper Person.” I’m actually wearing a nametag. Required. I have to have it on before I can even clock in. It’s there so that if you need something, you can tell me so without resorting to strange and awkward sobriquets. If I have my back turned to you, or in the event that you are near sighted and I am far away, a simple, “Miss?” or “Excuse me, ma’am?” is perfectly acceptable.

VII. Thou shalt not tell the custodial staff that you feel sorry for them.

This is unnecessary but it doesn’t actually bother me – I truly know you mean well. After all, I am crouched over the toilets for the second or third or even fourth time that day, and I know your sympathy is meant to be a kindness, so I take it as such. However….you needn’t feel sorry for me. I knew what I was signing up for when I took the job. I knew it would involve a lot of toilets and a lot of trash and a whole heckuvalot of sun. I don’t do my job in silent pity or shame. I hold my head high. (That’s technically untrue. I am nearly always looking down, either cleaning in the bathroom or scanning the ground for trash that needs to be swept. But you know what I mean.) When the park opens, I am proud that it is clean and safe. When you walk into the restroom and I have just cleaned it, it makes me happy (even though I know you’re going to wander around looking for just the right stall anyway). When I am there, I take ownership of the park. I invite you in, I greet you and smile at you and when I tell you that I hope so much that you enjoy your day, I really mean it. I am proud of the stage I set for your enjoyment – I take care of the trash and the bathrooms and the walkways so that you don’t have to, so that you can have fun with your family. So please don’t feel sorry for me. Don’t let sympathy for my plight interrupt the happiness of your day. Trust me, I don’t feel sorry for myself.

VIII. Thou shalt tell the staff when you need something.

Are you unhappy about something that happened? I can help you with more than you think. Most of the time, you don’t need to go directly to a manager. I’ll get him for you, of course, if you absolutely must see him. But try me first. Some things are a very easy fix, and you know what? I like helping you out. I really do. If I don’t know the answer to a question, I will know how to find out. I will put up your umbrella for you, take your glasses back to your table so they don’t get lost in the water, help you find the right size life vest for your toddler, clear away your trays and drinks. I want your day to be GREAT, because you spent a lot of money either on season passes or general admission tickets to bring your whole family to this park, and you’re probably still spending money, what with food and treats and such. I’m a parent on a budget too, and I understand your perspective. I want to help you. No, I can’t refund your money if you’re completely dissatisfied with the birthday party package you paid for; but, I can blow up more floats if there aren’t enough, and I can fix your chair when it breaks, and I can run and grab a new ice cream cup for your son who is wailing like a banshee because his just spilled all over the ground. I can do a lot for you, and I want to, so don’t let a relatively minor mishap ruin your experience here. Just ask me for help.

IX. Thou shalt wear shoes everywhere in the park.

This is for your sake, not mine. Just trust me on this one.

X. Thou shalt leave when the park closes.

We close at six o’clock. Six o’clock is when the park closes, not just the rides and attractions. Six o’clock is not the proper time to get one last drink, buy one last snack, have a refreshing rest at your shaded table, then head to the bathroom to shower and change all thirty-two of your children, and finally gather up your things to leave by ten ‘til seven. The park closes at six. All of that other stuff should be done by six. And for goodness’ sake, you just got out of seven hours in the sun and you’re heading home…do you really need to wash and dry your hair and put on makeup? I cannot clean the bathrooms fully until everyone is gone. I can try, but every time I clean a toilet, it will get dirty again; and every time I wash a sink, it will get used, and every time I wipe the mirrors, they will get splattered, and every time I sweep the dressing rooms, tags and brushes and discarded clothing will be left in it. So for all practical purposes, it is correct to say that I cannot fully clean the bathroom until you have left it. Chances are good that I have been working for the past nine hours in ninety-seven degree heat, cleaning up after and waiting on your family. And I’m okay with that, because that’s my job while I’m there. But now we’re closed, and it will take me another hour or so to get everything clean after you’re gone, and I would really like to go home to my family. So please leave when the park closes, not thirty to sixty minutes after.