Deceitful Me

Today in church we had a lesson on honesty. I don’t normally consider myself a dishonest person, but today I felt like a worm wishing that I could burrow myself deep under the church’s foundation. You see, the relief society president in my ward is also my swimming buddy. And when we go swimming we’re supposed to have a swim pass. She has one. I don’t.

The first time I went swimming I brought money to pay the $5 fee. They scanned my student card, but since I’m an alumna and not a current student, when my card was scanned it beeped the “intruder warning” tone. I looked the lifeguard in the eyes and told him that I’m not a current student—truth. He rewarded my honesty with a free swim session. The second time I went I also brought money to pay the $5 fee, though I hoped I wouldn’t have to use it. I handed over my student card to the lifeguards, but this time when it beeped the “intruder” tone I turned, a deceitful, confused look grew across my brow and I said, “Hum…that’s funny. I wonder why it’s not working.”

I’m still not sure why this little lie slipped through my lips. I had the money to pay, just in case this lifeguard wasn’t as willing to let my alumna status slide. But, instead I—almost instinctively—lied. And I got away with it. I scuttled away, instantaneously feeling like the slime that feeds on the scum that grows on the bottom of the pool. The worst part about it is that when I turned to my relief society president and asked her, “Am I the so horrible,” she laughed and responded, “I’m just glad you’re normal.” Shoot. I almost had her fooled.

In the meantime, I need to return to the pool pronto to pay my $5 fee with interest, even though the husband disagrees. He thinks that somewhere in the $30,000 of tuition we pay every year to the university my pool fees should be covered. I agree, but can’t convince my conscience that it’s my responsibility to “stick it to the man.” Maybe someday I’ll figure out how to do both.