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The Secret Curse Of Rooftop Pools
By
John Del Signore
Published Jun 18, 2015
Modified Jun 19, 2015
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By
John Del Signore
Published Jun 18, 2015
Modified Jun 19, 2015
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Two. There are two unbearably off-limits rooftop pools in this photo by George Steinmetz, whose aerial shots of enviable Manhattan roof gardens should be the only link that comes up on Google searches for "What does it feel like to get kicked in the balls?" For the full effect, click through Steinmetz's photos while waiting on line to get into McCarren Park Pool.
Next time you hear someone say, "This is why we can't have nice things," remember that is a lie. Some people can have nice things, just not you. Unless "you" do in fact have access to one of these rooftop pools. How lovely. Ever consider showing your appreciation for all this hot free Gothamist Content by inviting me up for a dip?
Forget it. Equanimity is the freedom from wishing your roof to be anything other than what it is. And it's worth remembering that Drowning In Private Rooftop Pools is the second highest cause of death for New Yorkers under 60, followed by Private Seaplane Crashing Off Montauk On A Summer Friday. As you can see by this enhanced photo, there are zero lifeguards to save you as you slowly drown over the course of several hours in your deadly rooftop pool:
I don't wish for anything bad to happen to you in your luxuriant private rooftop pool, I'm just pointing out statistics to emphasize that a rooftop pool isn't some kind of urban utopia paradise with an open bar. 92 New Yorkers died or were seriously maimed last year by sharks dropped from helicopters into private rooftop pools. Yes, that's a small number compared to the thousands who enjoy rooftop pools every day without a shark attack, but it's something to think about when you're napping on your $209 Folding Baja II Floating Pool Lounge chair.
The other downside of a rooftop pool in NYC is that they are extremely lonely. You moved to New York City to meet people, be social, network, climb a gilded ladder of careerism and mating that will one day release you back into the suburbs with three kids and a mastery of ladderball. But you're not going to meet anybody up on the stupid roof pool. It's boring and dangerous and no one goes there, see:
Also, notice those steps leading to the rooftop pool? That is a slip and fall lawsuit waiting to happen, my friend. When your buddy Skip throws his back out at your pool party, you'll be lucky to afford a membership at the Y by the time his lawyers are done with you.
Oh, and when your marriage ends in divorce—which it will when you catch your wife frolicking naked in the rooftop pool with Skip—guess who gets the pool? Well, you will, probably, since she committed adultery. But who wants to swim in a pool of divorced dad tears? You and Cynthia brought that yellow beach ball back from your weekend in Myrtle Beach; you stole it for her from some teenagers on a dare... It's all that's left now after your settlement with Skip.
But by far the worst part about your rooftop pool is that from your high vantage point, you can easily see other, more attractive rooftop pools, forever out of reach. Just look at the pool those entitled parasites across the street get to splash around in. It's surrounded by glorious verdure and shaped like a figure eight, a symbol for infinity, a concept you once thought you understood.
Your rooftop pool has taught you a bitter truth: everything here in this dimension has a beginning and an end, and life is just a splash of chlorinated water slipping out through the gurgling filter of time. Instead of making you feel content and relaxed, your rooftop pool has brought only ruin to what was once a happy home. At least, you thought it was happy. Was any of it real? Did you ever really enjoy the pool, or did you just feed off of the envy of your fellow New Yorkers, sweating miserably at Broad Channel waiting for an A train to Rockaway that never comes?
Your rooftop pool brought a promise of immortality, but now you see it's just a glorified bathtub filled with poison. Take one last sip from its waters and look out in the distance. If you had only bought that apartment across the street, your life would have been completely different! They have so much more shade than you do.
Well, at least you didn't buy that rooftop cabin. The poor family that lived there was abducted by those bandits who robbed the Metro-North stage coach last month. They just galloped over the rooftops on horseback one night and burned it to the ground. Terrible thing.
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John Del Signore
Originally from the Albany area, John Del Signore has called NYC home since 1995. In addition to his thousands of meticulously-crafted bespoke blog posts for Gothamist, his writing has also been published in The Awl, Deadspin, The Nervous Breakdown, and performed at The Brick Theater in Brooklyn.
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Gothamist is funded by sponsors and member donations
Gothamist is funded by sponsors and member donations
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