Like most Tlellians, I abhor the idea of personal hygiene. In fact, I will refuse to shower unless I am either really cold or my bidet has stopped working. And even then, it’s a struggle to get under the water.
Once I’m in the shower, though, I mimic those good folks up in Masset and do my most profound thinking and solving of the world’s problems while cascading hot water cocoons me in a false sense of wisdom and self-worth. But like our friends down in Skidegate, I am often troubled by a lack of sufficiently hot water, so, aping our Sandspitian neighbours to the southeast, I will get out of the not-hot-enough shower and stroll around naked because all of my drying-off towels are in the laundry. Which warrants Port Clements-like guffaws and gasps from my neighbours, who are imaginary because I’ve been smoking too much of Old Masset’s Haida Haze lettuce.
Did I miss anyone? Oh right, Daajing Giids. You showered, perfectly hygienic little teetotalers.
One day, Daajing Giids…I’ll figure out what makes you tick. But for now, back to the showers.
Showering was invented in Justkatla back in 1965 when a hydraulic hose burst and everyone caught in the chaotic spray of hydraulic fluid thought, “This feels pretty neato!” (That’s how they spoke back then.) In fact, the word “shower” comes from the Justkatlian word “showda,” which means “glisteny.”
For four years, the residents of Justkatla would douse themselves under flowing hydraulic fluid just for the laughs until a local woman discovered soap at the Bayview Market and took all the fun out of everything. Now we shower with soap as a punishment and to remind ourselves that you should never get too excited about something new or else someone will just introduce soap and ruin everything.
I had my first shower when I was 17. Up until then, I had just wiped myself down with used cotton balls I found behind the old hospital. I was friendless, I smelled like Port Edward in a light northwesterly, and my acne had acne. But because of showering, all that changed. I have showering to thank for a lot of things.
Now I have a nice truck, I can cut my own hair, and someone talked to me yesterday. All through the power of flowing hot water.
Some people think that having a bath is just as good as showering, to which I say, gross. Bathing is just sitting in a climate-controlled puddle, and I learned a long time ago that puddles are no place to get clean and meet people. Showers, on the other hand, can be a great place to make friends if you invite the right people and use public facilities. Like the Earl Mah Aquatic Centre in Rinse Poopert Prince Rupert.
Which finally brings me to the point of this column. We need a public pool just for the public showering facilities alone. I want to be there, in that shower, with my soap and hydraulic fluid. Meeting and greeting. Finding out the latest gossip. Ordering lunch or even just playing a friendly game of Catan with all the other showerers.
I want to experience the steamy mists of camaraderie and the luscious lather of making the world a better place through open dialogue, progressive conversation, and shower cap comparisons. I want to loofah my way to fixing our roads and building better schools. I want to be a part of the solution, and that begins with chest, armpits, head, groin. In that order!
I’m not even interested in the pool, to be honest. The pool is just a big bath. A shower with no get-up-and-go. Maybe it would be more fun if, instead of a public pool, we just build a massive public shower with 200 stalls and a food court. Hmmm…that’s not a bad idea. I’ll go jump in the shower and think about it.