L was on the diving board line with a bunch of dirt bags (not really. young boys - maybe 8th grade?). They were horsing around (God. I'm old.) And that was fine. They were making lude gestures. Whatever, fine. But THEN they started spitting on each other. SO that's when mama got her sneakers on.
Me, "HEY. HEY! EXCUSE ME. If you are going to (long pause so I could talk myself out of using an F bomb) spit near my daughter, you (pause so I could talk myself out of using an F bomb) better have good aim! Cut it out!"
L, "Oh my god, this is happening. This can't be happening." - Not really, it's just what I think she was saying in her head.
Me, (to the lifeguard) "Are you going to DO anything about this?"
I then I explain that these punks are horsing around (good lord, could I be older?), spitting on each other, and this isn't the place... and that's when I experienced an out of body experience.
Later that night, when replaying the event for a friend, L tells the story.
"These boys were spitting. One almost got me. Then Mommy was like, 'HEY EXCUSE ME DON'T YOU SPIT ON ME DAUGHTER!' Then she called the life guard over and said, 'These boys are spitting! These boys are spitting!!! These boys are spitting!"
There it is. I yelled at someone else's kid. And alerted the lifeguard. My adolescent self had no idea.