Last weekend, the temperatures were so high and the Shadows softball games so demoralizing that my roommate and I resorted to drastic measures: sojourning to Target. We picked up a kiddie pool—okay, a 7-ft.-in-diameter inflatable green monster with a built-in seat and several cupholders roughly the size of our living room, but it looked smaller in the box!—and dragged it back to our sunless, yardless basement
apartment, which remains indifferent to the changes of season.
After inflating the pool using only our lungs, my roommate and I transported the thing to the (ground-level) patio out back that we share with our landlord and various other supporting characters. After filling the pool by connecting a plastic tube up to the kitchen sink (we lack a hose proper, and many other things), the refreshing summer bug magnet was ripe for poker games, modest exercise, and [redacted]. We removed our shoes and stood in the pool, victorious. This urban beach will be ours, we thought, until the Target beach ball is lost to the faceless masses who make their homes on the other side of the fence.
By the next morning—after poker games, modest exercise and [redacted] had come and gone—the pool's pristine D.C. tap water had accumulated a floor of dirt, a floating cigarette butt, and the attention of the creepy hairless cat that hangs out on the porch overlooking our patio. The beach ball was surrendered to the masses. The cat was threatening to cannonball into the thing, if it could only get its hairless body through the wooden slats. We drained the pool, sending the water cascading down the steps and into the drain just outside our dungeon door, into which we retreated.
Two years ago, Sadie Dingfelder told us how to sneak into District area pools for free. Let's take it to the next level: How do you sneak into District area Slip 'n Slides?