Natatorium Gangs

While it may not feel like it, Spring is coming up and so is summer. Every summer I make the four and a half block pilgrimage to the Red Hook Pool. Well, for the past two summers anyway. Actually, last year I never made it because I was disenchanted from my first experience.

The pool is part of the Red Hook Recreational Center which is governed by the New York City Department of Parks and Recreation. It is also located within spitting distances of the infamous Red Hook West Houses. Despite this fact, the pool remains clean and tame enough for yuppie/hipster moms to bring their yuppie/hipster tots (who are undoubtedly gifted) to. The reason it is so pleasant is because the rules are pretty stringent.

Many of these rules are pretty standard, such as "no urinating or defecating in the pool" and "all bathers must take a shower before entering the pool." I, like most gentrified swimmers, am happy to abide by these policies. These rules are essential to making the public swimming experience as pleasurable as possible for the gentry. However, I was almost not let into the facility in the first place due to my attire. You see, I was wearing a shirt that was deemed unacceptable by the person working at the gate. It was considered to be "gang related."

I felt pretty damn cool for those five seconds thinking that I looked like a possibly dangerous gang banger. After all, my grey t-shirt did have hunter green lettering that had an image on coniferous forestry and stated "National Forest Proposal." On the back it said, "Once they're gone, they're gone forever..." It was a shirt I got when I was working for a non-profit environmental awareness group back in college. So, whatever supposed gang I was involved in is at least environmentally conscious. I'm sure the Bloods and the Crips do their part to help save the environment, but I doubt they have the t-shirts to prove it.

I was clearly in violation of the rule that stipulates that one can only enter the swimming facility wearing a plain white t-shirt over one's swimsuit. I did not know this when I decided to go to the pool that day. There are no gangs that I know whose colors are heather grey and hunter green and if there were, I'm sure they wouldn't go around terrorizing patrons of New York City pools and recreational facilities.

I explained to the woman that I was not, in fact, in a gang but that I was thinking of joining one. She was not amused. I never did get into the natatorium that day, but I came back the next day wearing a plain white t-shirt in hopes that it was a shade of white that could not be confused with something a gang-member might wear. My shirt was fine. My towel, on the other hand, is another story.