In a bold, decisive act of cultural vandalism that has left even the most stoic Washington monument wondering what in Sam Hill just happened, the nation's collective jaw dropped to the floor yesterday as the historic Washington Reflecting Pool was observed receiving a fresh coat of black paint. Yes, you read that correctly. No trick of the light.
No avant-garde installation from a disgruntled Romanian conceptual artist. Actual black paint, applied with actual paint rollers, by actual men in actual overalls who looked very much like they wished they could sink into the paint they were displacing. The National Park Service, in a statement that sounded like it was dictated through a mouthful of gravel and bureaucratic regret, confirmed the operation was to 'repair the pool's deteriorating lining.
' Deteriorating lining. That's the official line. The lining, you see, had become so degraded that the pool could no longer convincingly reflect the grandeur of the Lincoln Memorial or the dome of the Capitol.
It was a public relations disaster for light itself. And so, in a moment of what can only be described as staggering literal-mindedness, someone looked at a pool that reflects things and thought, 'Ah, I know what this needs. More darkness.
A complete, seamless void. Something that, when you look into it, you see not your own face or the sky above, but the infinite, suffocating abyss of administrative incompetence.' The political fallout, which of course is the only thing that matters, has been immense.
The president, who was reportedly briefed on the paint job while trying to locate his own shoes, had no comment. However, a senior aide, speaking on condition of anonymity (and possibly a lung), assured this correspondent that 'the paint is very sleek, very modern, and it will hold up beautifully against the elements, just like our democracy.' Indeed, the pool now looks less like a body of water and more like a giant, freshly paved car park for invisible cars.
Tourists, baffled and bereft of metaphorical reflection, have been seen taking selfies with the black expanse, their faces a perfect match for the void they now stare into. 'It's like looking into the soul of the tax code,' said one woman from Ohio, tears of genuine confusion tracing lines through her sunscreen. The ecological implications, you ask?
Well, the ducks have all left. They refused to swim in obsidian. The Canada geese, however, have embraced the change, claiming it 'makes a powerful statement about contemporary waterfowl politics.
' Meanwhile, the ghost of George Washington is said to be pacing the Mall, muttering about building codes and the proper maintenance of ornamental water features. In conclusion, we have painted over our own reflection. We have taken a mirror and turned it into a slab of nothing.
And we have done it, as we do everything, with a sense of grim purpose and a total lack of irony. The pool is closed for repairs. So is our capacity for self-examination.
When will it reopen? When the paint dries, apparently. And for a nation built on reflection, that might take a very, very long time.
