It isn’t often that I attribute my life to anything like pure human survival instinct, but there’s something off about ‘The Showerless Pool.’ And it’s enough that I don’t want to touch it even though I’ve already changed into my swimsuit. A swimsuit I purchased for this purpose, specifically.
There’s the fact that nobody else is in the water and, beyond that, I seem to be the only visitor to the pool today. There is the absolute insistence that no shower is necessary to enter the pool. There is a proud lack of shower in the corner. The sense of the place is that ‘The Pool’ has some sort of property or mechanic that keeps it clean, but it doesn’t specify that in text anywhere. So it could actually be very dirty.
But it’s clear. So clear that it could be air, if not for a bluish tint that suggests some sort of chemical interference. The pool is still the way syrup is. Lethargic. I’m sure it would ripple but I’m too afraid to touch it. With anything.
What really gets me is that there is no smell. No pool smell. No smell at all. It’s like smelling inside a vacuum: a space vacuum, not the cleaning kind that tend to smell electric and bad. There is no smell or sound in the room except for my breath on both counts.
Something should want to live in water so clean.
But nothing does.
‘Totally safe. ‘The Showerless Pool,’ is exactly as advertised and because nobody trusts it, ‘The Showerless Pool’ stays clean.’
-traveler
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