The Pool Rule Breaker Who Got What She Deserved
The night was already dragging on, and I had no idea it was about to turn into total chaos. All because of one entitled hotel guest who thought the rules didn’t apply to her. But karma? Karma came in fast—and soaked in chlorine.
I should’ve been home hours ago. Normally, I clock out around 10:15 p.m., but that night I stuck around because my manager Ray had asked me to.
There was some overdue maintenance work happening—specifically repairs on the pool pump’s water filtration system—and I needed to give the technician access to the storage closet that held our chemical logs. I was tired, but figured it wouldn’t be long.
By 9:55 p.m., I had already done my usual closing routine at the pool. I gave guests a soft reminder at 9:00, a louder one at 9:40, and a final “five minutes left” call at 9:55. It was all part of a process I’d learned after dealing with too many late-night swimmers who claimed they had “no idea” the pool was closing.
That night, most people packed up without issue. One dad even thanked me as he wrapped his daughter in a towel. I was just about to mentally check out.
Then Linda showed up.
She looked to be in her early 40s, skin baked by the sun and cheeks flushed from maybe one too many glasses of chardonnay. Her frizzy curls were flattened by pool water, and she stomped over to me barefoot, holding a soaked child on each hip. Her voice came at me like someone scraping metal against glass.
“We paid GOOD MONEY to be here!” she barked. “My kids want to keep swimming! You need to leave the pool open another hour!”
I glanced at my watch.
“Sorry, ma’am,” I said calmly. “Pool closes at 10 p.m. sharp. It’s for guest safety. We’ve got chemical treatment scheduled and usually get noise complaints if we let people stay past hours.”
She rolled her eyes so hard, I thought they might fall out.
“Show me something official! This makes no sense! I was gone five minutes to get snacks and now you’re telling me it’s shut down?” she snapped, awkwardly re-adjusting a sagging towel.
She definitely wasn’t gone five minutes, but I wasn’t about to argue. Instead, I walked straight to the sign behind the pool gate and tapped it.
“‘Pool Hours: 8 a.m. to DUSK,’” I read aloud.
“That doesn’t say 10 p.m.!” she shouted.
“No,” I said, smiling politely, “but dusk can be anywhere from 6 to 9 p.m., depending on the season. So technically, we’re giving everyone bonus time.”
That made her face twist in anger. She huffed loudly and stormed off, yelling at her kids to follow her.
I assumed that would be the end of it. That she’d march to her room, reheat some pizza, and trash-talk me to her Facebook group. But no—she stomped into the lobby and went straight to the front desk.
I stayed near the maintenance shed. Not my problem. Not my drama.
Until ten minutes later, my radio buzzed.
“Uh, hey, Liam?” came a hesitant voice. It was Kyle—the new night clerk. Only 20, big eyes, still full of hope, and clearly easy to manipulate.
“So… uh… I gave Linda the gate key.”
My jaw dropped. “You what?!”
“She said her kids were crying! She promised they’d only swim for thirty minutes! I thought—”
“Did you ask Ray?”
“He’s off tonight. I just thought—”
“You thought wrong, Kyle.” I groaned. “And how exactly did you give her a key? Ray has the spare. I’ve got the other one.”
“I—I thought…”
I cut him off. “You know what? Not my problem anymore. You deal with it.”
I walked back toward the shed, shaking my head. Still, I couldn’t help glancing toward the pool. And what did I see? A full-on beach party. Towels everywhere, kids screaming, moms chatting like it was noon.
At least a dozen kids were back in the pool, splashing and yelling. Four moms were lounging nearby, all acting like it was perfectly normal.
And then I heard it.
“EWWWW, IT SMELLS WEIRD!”
“MY SKIN BURNS!”
I turned slowly.
Linda was flying off her chair, sprinting to the edge of the pool. Her voice was high and panicked.
“What the—Kayla, get out! GET OUT NOW!”
But it was too late.
The pool was full of chlorine shock treatment. I had told her this. Everyone knew it. That’s why the pool closed at 10 sharp. After hours, we pour in a super-strong mix of chemicals. It needs 4 to 6 hours to dissolve safely.
Now, all those kids were floating in chemical soup.
Linda screamed and marched back inside with her red-eyed children, yelling, “WHO PUT CHEMICALS IN THE POOL?!”
And instead of taking responsibility, she demanded my number.
Kyle, shaking in his shoes, gave it to her.
She called me within an hour, screaming so hard I had to hold the phone away from my ear.
“You did this on PURPOSE! Where are you?! Come back here!” she screeched.
I was stunned. “Ma’am, what’s the issue now?”
“You poisoned the pool! My kids are BURNING!”
I replied, “Ma’am, the pool closes at 10. We begin chemical treatment immediately after. I told you this earlier.”
She went silent, then hissed through the phone, “I want the manager. Right now.”
“He’ll be in tomorrow at 8 a.m.,” I said, unfazed.
She slammed the phone down. Then I got a voicemail just minutes later.
“You petty little creep,” she hissed. “You didn’t say the chemicals would be that bad! I thought you were bluffing! You’ll pay. I’m calling the police. I hope you like jail.”
I saved that voicemail and sent it to Ray, who was already on his way to the hotel after being alerted.
An hour later, two police cruisers pulled up. I watched from the break room window as Linda ranted on the sidewalk like she was performing in a drama class. Her kids were huddled in towels. Kyle looked like he might faint.
When the officers asked for my statement, I handed over everything—voicemail, logs, and security footage.
Turns out, Kyle had given her the wrong key—one that didn’t even open the pool gate. But in her drunken state, she’d picked the lock and forced her way in. She’d even yanked open the emergency override to let a kid back in when the auto-lock snapped shut. That was tampering.
The cherry on top? The cameras caught her screaming at me on the phone—clear audio and everything.
“I’ll ruin you,” she yelled. “I’ll say you poisoned my kids!”
One officer looked her dead in the eye. “Ma’am, were you aware pool access is restricted after 10 p.m.?”
“I was given a key!” she shot back.
“But you broke the lock,” the officer replied coolly. “That’s unauthorized entry.”
She went pale.
“But—but he—” she pointed at Kyle.
The second officer turned to him. “Who decided to go back to the pool?”
Kyle stared at his shoes. “She said her husband was sick. That the kids needed to relax. I thought it’d be okay. I didn’t know the chemicals were in.”
I didn’t even feel bad for him. I was too busy trying not to grin.
In the end, Linda was charged with trespassing and filing a false report. She was banned from every hotel in the chain.
Her kids? Fine. A little itchy, but no burns. Just a rinse and some water, and they were back to normal.
Back inside, I was finally clocking out when Kyle shuffled over, looking like a wet puppy.
“Hey,” he said softly. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re new. You’ll learn,” I told him. “But never hand out a key again without checking first.”
He nodded hard.
“Thanks for not throwing me under the bus.”
I shrugged. “Didn’t have to. Linda did all that herself.”
We shared a quiet laugh, and I pointed back toward the gate.
“Next time someone demands something crazy? Just point to the sign.”
