Ever notice how people shell out obscene amounts of money just to avoid being within splashing distance of someone who hasn't yet developed their frontal lobe? Like rats in a maze pressing buttons for cocaine, we've somehow convinced ourselves that paying "hundreds extra per night" will create an invisible force field around our precious relaxation space—a magical barrier that repels anyone whose voice might still crack occasionally. It's fucking hilarious when you think about it. Here we are, balancing on this wet rock hurtling through endless space, and somehow we've decided that the hill to die on is whether a teenager can put his feet in the same chlorinated piss-water as our sacred adult bodies.
Me (31F) and my husband (34M) paid quite a bit extra per night to have a room at a resort in Costa Rica with a swim-up room. This section of rooms in particular are the only "adult only" spaces in the resort. While we were lounging on our chairs in front of the room in the pool, we saw a couple of rooms down a couple with a 13-15 year old boy with them. There are several signs around the pool indicating it's adults only. Didn't say anything that day. Yesterday the boy was in the adult only pool again snorkeling in their section. He really wasn't bothering us, but it bothered me that we paid hundreds of dollars extra per night for this space and there's ~5 other pools at the resort that are kid friendly. AITA for asking if he was 18 and when they confirmed he wasn't, I asked if we could respect the adults-only rules because of the extra cost?
The Existential Swim-Up Bar
Let's wade into this festering puddle of first-world problems, shall we? This couple paid a premium—the modern-day indulgence to absolve themselves of the sin of proximity to youth—only to discover that money can't actually buy happiness or, apparently, enforcement of arbitrary age restrictions at tropical resorts. The true comedy isn't the teenager snorkeling where he doesn't belong; it's the adults who've constructed an entire moral framework around their "right" to not see adolescents while they slowly pickle their livers with overpriced daiquiris.
The couple's outrage is a perfect microcosm of our desperate attempt to compartmentalize existence into neat little sections: children here, adults there, as if we're all not just temporary arrangements of atoms pretending that our divisions mean something. Their conflict isn't about rules—it's about the fundamental human delusion that we can purchase our way out of the chaos of existence. That resort pool is just another stage where we perform our little plays of moral indignation, like Shakespeare characters prancing around in dollar-store costumes.
And what about this teenager? This... checks notes... 13-15 year old menace whose crime is breathing the same air and floating in the same water as our protagonists? He's not stealing their wallets or blasting Lizzo at full volume—he's snorkeling. Probably looking at fish or his own reflection, wondering why adults are such massive pricks about everything. The couple says "he really wasn't bothering us," which translates in any language to "we had to manufacture something to be upset about because contentment makes us uncomfortable."
It's like paying extra for the "no crying babies" section of a plane only to discover that sound, much like the existential dread that haunts us all, doesn't respect arbitrary boundaries drawn by resort marketers. The sheer fucking audacity of believing that your economic transaction should reshape reality around your preferences is both pathetic and goddamn quintessentially human.
The Chlorinated Abyss Gazes Back
In the end, what we have here is a cosmic joke where everyone thinks they're the punchline. The couple believes they're being reasonable—after all, rules are rules, and they paid for those rules to benefit them. The parents with the teenager probably think they're being reasonable too—after all, their precious spawn wasn't harming anyone. And the resort staff? Those poor bastards caught in between, forced to mediate disputes between entitled assholes because capitalism demands we pretend customer satisfaction matters in a universe spiraling toward heat death.
The real asshole isn't the couple or the teenager or even the resort for failing to enforce its own bullshit policies. The real asshole is the collective human delusion that any of this matters. That somehow, the sanctity of an "adults-only" swimming pool ranks anywhere on the scale of cosmic significance. We're all just monkeys with credit cards, flinging our shit at each other in increasingly sophisticated ways.
Summary for Knuckle-Dragging Morons
Rich couple 🤑 pays extra for no-kid zone at fancy resort 🏝️. Teenager 👦 shows up anyway. Couple whines about rules ⚠️ being broken. Nobody gives a fuck 🖕. We're all going to die someday ☠️, and this is what you're worried about? The universe continues expanding into oblivion regardless of who's allowed in what swimming pool 🌊. Get over yourselves.
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