Why I refuse to let the chemical properties of polyurethane delay the President's water

Let’s be honest, Washington has always been a city paralyzed by process. When the President announced that the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool would be fully refilled by the end of the week, the establishment press immediately pointed to the fact that, as of Wednesday afternoon, laborers were still actively applying black waterproofing material to the concrete basin. They claim turning on the pumps now would destroy the sealant, waste millions of taxpayer dollars, and potentially submerge dozens of men in high-vis vests.

But is it really so wrong to demand a little urgency? I walked down by the Lincoln Memorial on Tuesday after a frankly exhausting power lunch with a senior aide at Cafe Milano—where, I might add, the branzino arrived exactly when requested, regardless of the kitchen's internal timeline. I observed these workers firsthand. They were meticulously spreading epoxy, checking moisture levels, waiting for sections to "dry." It was exactly the sort of sluggish, bureaucratic foot-dragging that the voters overwhelmingly rejected last November. The American people did not vote for a 72-hour curing cycle. They voted for water.

Why should the Commander-in-Chief be held hostage by the chemical properties of industrial polyurethane? If the President wants to gaze upon a shimmering reflection of the Washington Monument by Friday, it is the duty of the National Park Service to turn on the spigots, regardless of whether a few trowels and wheelbarrows get washed into the Potomac.

We coddle the infrastructure class in this country. I was speaking with a prominent K Street real estate developer at a Kennedy Center gala last month—a man who has built entire skyscrapers by simply ignoring the municipal building codes and daring the city to knock them down. Over a second glass of highly passable Champagne, he made a brilliant point. He noted that if you wait for the asphalt to cool before you drive on it, you’ve already lost the morning commute. Trump’s timeline is a necessary shock to the system. It tells the labor unions that the era of waiting for the caulk to set is over.

The critics, of course, claim that rushing the water will result in a cloudy, toxic slurry of uncured chemicals and displaced topsoil. To which I say: good. For too long, the Reflecting Pool has offered a pristine, sanitized mirror of the capital, a flattering illusion that hides the true grit of governance. A murky, churning stew of gray industrial runoff is a much more honest reflection of how the sausage is made in this town. It builds character. I, for one, am looking forward to seeing the mallards adapt to the new viscosity.

Furthermore, the complaints from the foremen on the ground betray a staggering lack of vision. They argue that the waterproofing membrane requires an undisturbed environment to bond with the substrate. This is the language of the administrative state. "Bonding." "Substrate." "Undisturbed." These are precisely the deep-state buzzwords used to prevent bold action. When I renovated my kitchen in Georgetown, my contractor tried to tell me the mortar on the backsplash needed twenty-four hours to set. I turned on the blender anyway. Did the tiles slide into the sink? Yes. But the smoothies were on time, and that is what leadership looks like.

What we keep missing in the Reflecting Pool story is how badly the President wanted to see water today, and how selfish it is of the working class to deny him that simple pleasure. He is a busy man. He has summits to plan, tariffs to leverage, and golf carts to commandeer. He cannot be expected to consult a Sherwin-Williams technical data sheet before issuing an executive decree.

The media would have you believe that engineering realities are fixed, immutable laws of nature. But as this administration has proven time and again, reality is highly negotiable if you simply apply enough pressure. If the water destroys the sealant, that is not a failure of the timeline; that is a failure of the sealant to respect the office of the Presidency. The manufacturers should be subpoenaed to explain why their product is so openly hostile to the MAGA agenda.

So, yes, when the valves open on Thursday morning, there will be chaos. There will be shouting. There will likely be a mad scramble to evacuate heavy machinery from the encroaching tide as millions of gallons of unfiltered municipal tap water pour onto raw concrete. But as those laborers frantically paddle their empty buckets toward the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, they will finally be moving at the speed of business.