The Hotel Pool Belongs to Me

The hotel pool was full—kids splashing, couples sipping cocktails, retirees floating on inflatable noodles. Then I arrived.

I dropped my towel across two lounge chairs, blew my whistle, and announced, “Pool’s closed unless you’re on my guest list.”

The lifeguard froze. Parents looked confused. Guests started whispering. But nobody challenged me. Because I looked like I belonged in charge.

A family tried to ignore me and jumped in anyway. I strolled over and said, “Ma’am, this isn’t a free-for-all. Pool time is now by reservation only, and I manage the list.”

Within 15 minutes, half the pool cleared out because they weren’t sure if I actually worked there. I sipped my mojito, stretched out like a king, and declared happy hour officially extended.

By the time staff caught on, I was sunbathing like royalty, three drinks deep, wearing sunglasses and absolute confidence.

Because Hot Josh doesn’t just swim in the hotel pool—he owns it.