“My life is over. My friends are on the patio. My crush is holding a lemonade. I will have to move to a remote cabin in Montana and change my name. Goodbye, civilization.”
When you look down, your trunks are no longer around your waist. They are plastered flat against the drain grill, four feet below you, waving sadly in the current like a surrendered flag. The filter has won. After realizing my swimming trunks have been sucked off , you will experience a rapid-fire cycle of emotions. My Swimming Trunks Have Been Sucked Off
Let me paint you a picture. It is 3:00 PM on a sweltering Saturday in July. The smell of chlorine and coconut sunscreen hangs heavy in the air. A 12-year-old boy does a cannonball to my left. A dad in wraparound sunglasses is grilling burgers that smell suspiciously like charcoal lighter fluid. And me? I am standing waist-deep in the deep end, staring at the ominous, metal grille of a pool filter return jet. “My life is over
Now, add your trunks. Perhaps you opted for a loose-fitting pair—the kind with the mesh liner that rides up. Maybe the drawstring was untied. As you innocently swim over the main drain, the water rushing into the filter creates a low-pressure zone. Your baggy trunks, acting like a sail, get drawn toward it. I will have to move to a remote