Gas prices are soaring, which of course means slugging has become a much more popular commuting option for a lot of people. There is no other "free" commuting option available out there that will get you to and from work, so it should not come as a surprise that the lots are overflowing right now.
For those who don't know, the HOV closes off to regular traffic at 6:00AM. Our commuter lot is FULL, bursting beyond capacity, by 6:30AM. Cars are racing through the lot trying to get that ONE LAST SPOT, and as is usually the case, I'm a second too late and have to find an alternative. For the brave, there is the option of parking your SUV (or in some really brave cases...sedans) over the curb and into the mud. For others, they try to "blend" into a surrounding parking lot that is within walking distance of the lot, praying that their car will still be there when they return. But, just because you get a space does not mean you will get a ride or that you won't have to wait for eternity for one to come.
As you can imagine, the more the news trains us on how "bleak" and "hopeless" our economy is, the more frightened and desperate people become. The overall tone of the slug line has changed to a much more somber, less friendly environment. It's not just the riders who are feeling beaten down by our supposed economic plight. The poor drivers who feel that they have to drive are starting to become a little less friendly and cooperative these days too.
However, there is one lady who is just a bitch...always has been and always will be!
If you've been a loyal reader from the beginning, you will remember me writing about a woman who turned up her radio in response to the "good morning" greeting she received from her riders. She was a bitch then, and she was a bitch this week. I haven't seen her much in the last few months, but she's been around a lot lately. As shitty-luck lotteries go, I'm a regular winner.
Bitchita arrived in her shiny Mercedes, and I gladly slid into the leather seats thinking that at least it would be a nice ride despite the leather and the weather. I figured I would just nap and avoid any expectations of friendly banter or even cordial greetings. I didn't bother saying "hello" because I knew she wouldn't respond. As soon as, and I mean AS SOON AS, me and my fellow rider got in, she dialed up someone on her cell phone. And before I forget, let me mention that another rider to my destination noticed that she had an empty backseat, so he tapped on her window and asked if she would take a third. Can you guess her response? DING DING DING, you win! She didn't even bother to roll down her window to respond. She shook her head and looked away. Nice.
I just climbed in the back, loaded up the blessed iPod, and closed my eyes. Despite my moderately volumed iPod, I could still hear her talking to her "friend." [Not sure who would befriend this beast, but hey, it takes all kinds...] Anyway, they were discussing how expensive it is to shop at a new grocery store. This actually took up most of her time and concentration. She was swerving all over the road, gunning the gas, swerving in and out of lanes, and she decided that air conditioning in DC in the summer was superfluous. Having an intimate knowledge of the Mercedes, I looked at the internal thermometer to see just how hot it was. Going by the density of my butt sweat on her leather seats, I was guessing at least 75. That may not sound that hot, but it's inside a car, with the sun coming in, with leather seats, and body heat. I eyeballed the dash temperature gauge and was not surprised to find out that it was a cool 81 degrees in her car. Yep, 81 degrees, leather seats, 6:30AM. It was a great way to start the day.
I was not able to take a nap, in case you didn't already assume that. So when we got close to my destination, I watched closely to see if she would take the exit that would make her pass my office to get to her destination. Of course, she didn't. She took the exit that is the farthest from my office. I wasn't expecting much, but the guy in the front seat made it worse by saying "I'll just jump out here." "Here" was about 1 mile back from the main road. So, she looked in her rearview at me, and I just said, "I'm down at _______, so wherever you can let me out close to that would be great."
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA I'M SUCH AN IDIOT
What do you suppose her response was?
She stopped at the corner and said "you can get out."
Oh yes, leaving an 81 degree Mercedes to walk over a mile in the summer heat in full business attire was exactly what I had in mind for that day. The entire way, every step, I was plotting various ways that I could punish this woman for her attitude. I was getting angrier and angrier with every sweat bead that trickled a path through my freshly applied makeup. Every step that irritated my newly formed blister became a step closer to revenge.
I can't help but to think that this woman clearly misses the point of the slugging system. She thinks it's all about her. She doesn't understand that the only way slugging works is that it be a mutually beneficial arrangement that requires both parties to cooperate and compromise. She must not be married, or if she is, her husband hates her. She is selfish, inconsiderate, and well, a bitch.
The good news is that people are catching on. If you get into a pattern, you start to learn names, faces, cars, personalities, the whole deal. She has been arriving all of a sudden at my regular line time. She has also very quickly developed a reputation.
With it being close to a holiday, the lot was relatively empty (meaning there were about 5 spaces left when I arrived), and the line was pretty long. I, and 4 others going to my destination, was standing in line for what seemed like forever. We started to chatter amongst ourselves about whether or not drivers were going to go to work today. The cars were few and far between, and we all were getting a little fidgety. Then the Benz Bitch rolled in. Those of us in the back of the line all leaned forward to look at our com padres in the front of the line and we all busted out laughing. The guy just strolled up and got in. No worries. He didn't care. The lady looked down at us and offered us her slot. We all held up our hands and insisted that she take her well-earned ride (knowing that there probably would NOT be another car). She begrudgingly got into the car, also knowing that she was going to have to hike down to our end of the world after she got abandoned in B-F-E.
It's my intention to organize a boycott of this woman's car to teach her a lesson in sharing and to send her a message that she needs us as much as we need her.
It probably won't work because, ultimately, we all just want to get to work. But it makes me feel proactive, and it prevents me from plotting different ways to sabotage her car. I like to channel my energy into more positive behaviors after all. :)
I may have passed up the last ride to my destination, but at least I wasn't walking down a major street in the capital of the free world wondering to myself "does my butt look sweaty?"
Just FYI, wait until I tell you about the arguments breaking out in the lines these days!
...to be continued!
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Too Much Information
I had to listen to a 60-something woman refer to sex twice in one car ride.
I don't know if I should be repulsed or encouraged.
Either way, I might just be scarred for life.
I don't know if I should be repulsed or encouraged.
Either way, I might just be scarred for life.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Shattered Ideals and Dirtsicles
When you picture a man who likes classical music, what do you picture? Personally, I picture an educated, refined man dressed in a well tailored Brooks Brothers suit driving at least a Volvo, if not a BMW (Benz men don't do classical). So there you have it--my imaginary picture of a man who can appreciate the finer qualities of classical music. It is, indeed, imaginary.
This morning I climbed into a moving anomaly. Mr. Mozart drove up in his late-model Japanese special, drab and generic, and he lazily called out his destination in a voice hardly perceptible by human ears. I mosied on over to the passenger side of the car. The second I opened the car door, the FRONT door much to my dismay, I saw the condition of the interior of his car and almost changed my mind. Had it not been for the fact that I already had to wait for SO long to get a ride post-Memorial Day, I would have bolted for a much cleaner ride.
So I stepped into his glorious garbage heap, thankful that I chose an all black ensemble today, and decided that I would just sleep and try not to think about the possibilities. As I was settling in, I looked on the dashboard and noticed actual clumps of dirt. Not just a layer of dust my friends...D-I-R-T--actual clumps of loose earth on the dash. Just stop for a minute and ask yourself how that got there....
Welcome back.
If you are anything like me, you are picturing shovels and dead bodies. But I digress.
So I resigned myself to riding in the dirt-hearse, but my imagination kept playing tricks on me. I have a thing about spiders and ticks and fleas and such, and I kept imagining them crawling on my legs and in my hair. My napping opportunity was out the window already, but ironically it gets worse.
Once he had us trapped, he changed from the local news and weather station to ...you guessed it...the classical station. But he didn't just put on some low-volume Tchaikovsky. No, no. He decided that it needed to be played at a Kanye West concert level. Seriously, can you see us cruising down I95 pimped out in our business suits swaying to the crankin' sounds of Rachmaninoff? It was LOUD. Who needs classical music that loud? He kept turning it up too, like it wasn't already loud enough! He was oscillating between tweaking the obnoxiously loud classical music and cranking the arctic blasts of air conditioning that were aimed at my one patch of flesh exposed.
I sat there, depressed, cold, and itchy. Why had he worked so hard to ruin my picture of the perfect classical-loving, wine drinking, non-dirt car owning man? It was as if I had learned that gravity doesn't actually exist. Next I'll find out that Patrick Dempsey can't actually grow a 5 o'clock shadow!
All in all, I arrived at work and catapulted myself from his car and quickly wiped my pants and jacket off. Even if nothing truly transferred from his car to my clothes, I wasn't going to take the chance. I quickly examined myself for creepy crawlies and praised the warm breezes of late May. I was left with one lingering thought that has carried me through my entire day.
I need a shower!
This morning I climbed into a moving anomaly. Mr. Mozart drove up in his late-model Japanese special, drab and generic, and he lazily called out his destination in a voice hardly perceptible by human ears. I mosied on over to the passenger side of the car. The second I opened the car door, the FRONT door much to my dismay, I saw the condition of the interior of his car and almost changed my mind. Had it not been for the fact that I already had to wait for SO long to get a ride post-Memorial Day, I would have bolted for a much cleaner ride.
So I stepped into his glorious garbage heap, thankful that I chose an all black ensemble today, and decided that I would just sleep and try not to think about the possibilities. As I was settling in, I looked on the dashboard and noticed actual clumps of dirt. Not just a layer of dust my friends...D-I-R-T--actual clumps of loose earth on the dash. Just stop for a minute and ask yourself how that got there....
Welcome back.
If you are anything like me, you are picturing shovels and dead bodies. But I digress.
So I resigned myself to riding in the dirt-hearse, but my imagination kept playing tricks on me. I have a thing about spiders and ticks and fleas and such, and I kept imagining them crawling on my legs and in my hair. My napping opportunity was out the window already, but ironically it gets worse.
Once he had us trapped, he changed from the local news and weather station to ...you guessed it...the classical station. But he didn't just put on some low-volume Tchaikovsky. No, no. He decided that it needed to be played at a Kanye West concert level. Seriously, can you see us cruising down I95 pimped out in our business suits swaying to the crankin' sounds of Rachmaninoff? It was LOUD. Who needs classical music that loud? He kept turning it up too, like it wasn't already loud enough! He was oscillating between tweaking the obnoxiously loud classical music and cranking the arctic blasts of air conditioning that were aimed at my one patch of flesh exposed.
I sat there, depressed, cold, and itchy. Why had he worked so hard to ruin my picture of the perfect classical-loving, wine drinking, non-dirt car owning man? It was as if I had learned that gravity doesn't actually exist. Next I'll find out that Patrick Dempsey can't actually grow a 5 o'clock shadow!
All in all, I arrived at work and catapulted myself from his car and quickly wiped my pants and jacket off. Even if nothing truly transferred from his car to my clothes, I wasn't going to take the chance. I quickly examined myself for creepy crawlies and praised the warm breezes of late May. I was left with one lingering thought that has carried me through my entire day.
I need a shower!
Thursday, May 1, 2008
An Assault on the Senses
I've written about smelly people before. It's a common violation of slugging etiquette based on my experiences. But today was special, so I'm going to take a minute to discuss it again.
I already know of several of my friends who will take GREAT offense at what I'm going to talk about, so I will apologize ahead of time. But as some background, I will say that I am a recovering smoker, so while I sit in judgment of this individual, I can understand where she's coming from. Also as some background, I suffer from SEVERE seasonal allergies, and Spring is the absolute worst time of the year for me. This particular year has been the worst I can remember, so I'm basically in a constant state of itchy snot-dom.
Moving on...
I drove this morning because I needed flexibility and the f-ing lot was full again. As is always my luck, when I'm driving there are no riders, and when I'm riding there are no drivers. I sat in the front of the line of cars for almost 15 minutes this morning. (OH, and as a side note, that skinny little pencil neck geek that goes to my destination but decided to take a car BEHIND me in the back of the line this morning because he didn't have to walk as far--making me wait EVEN LONGER--is officially blacklisted from my car FOREVER. If he walks up, I'm changing my location. Period. That guy just crossed me on the wrong morning!) Where was I?
Right, so I drove in today.
Thank goodness two riders finally came along who know the rules and got into the car. But the woman in the backseat (where my baby seat is) gets into the car still puffing on her cancer stick until the very last second. She puffs out a big lung full of smoke that basically did that little devil swirl in the air before firmly settling into the fabric of my poor little girl's seat (who just so happens to be suffering from allergies as bad as me). And of course, she didn't do a full exhale, so as she's talking and laughing at her own bad, humorless wit, she's exhaling little puffs of smoke into the air over and over again. As a recovering smoker, this both offends me and makes me want to smoke a quick cigarette again (I know, if you've never smoked, you are thinking I'm SICK). Anyway, she's sitting back there destroying one of my few precious sanctuaries from allergy torture by polluting my car with her smoke. But that's not the worst part!!!!!!!!!!
She's one of those guilty-conscience smokers who KNOWS she stinks of cigarettes but doesn't want to. So, what does she doe? That's right, you guessed it. She overcompensates for it by bathing in obnoxious perfume. Obnoxious is actually too kind a word to describe the toxic WMD she sprayed on herself this morning. In fact, now that I think about it, she did look a little suspicious....maybe I should call DHS or the FBI. I'll put that on my Outlook Tasker for later today.
I'm trying to drive in with a tissue in one hand, snot queuing at my nostrils just waiting to pour out, trying to adjust the air vents to blow her smoke and perfume away from me as I pass about 400 VA State Troopers trying to quickly compensate for their broken quotas for April. I was pretty worried that I was going to start swerving and vomiting because I was being poisoned by the Fairy Urine this woman tried to spray over her smoke-soaked work clothes. Then I started wondering if this was some sort of new terrorist weapon that could be used to kill brain cells of government workers one by one, and I started to wonder if it was best that I try to get pulled over to notify the police to prevent her from entering her office and poisoning everyone.
But then I woke up from my seasonal allergy haze and realized she was just a poor smoker who hates the fact that she can't break the habit. So she covers herself in the only perfume she can actually still smell with what's left of her nose-lining. Whatever "flower" is the base component of that perfume is, without a doubt, the worst smelling flower God ever created. If it can break through my wall of congestion enough to irritate me, it should be on Al Gore's list of banned chemicals that are bad for the environment. Come to think of it, it DID start to get a few degrees warmer while she was in my car. Maybe there is some validity to Al Gore's scientifically unfounded theory.
Nah.
I already know of several of my friends who will take GREAT offense at what I'm going to talk about, so I will apologize ahead of time. But as some background, I will say that I am a recovering smoker, so while I sit in judgment of this individual, I can understand where she's coming from. Also as some background, I suffer from SEVERE seasonal allergies, and Spring is the absolute worst time of the year for me. This particular year has been the worst I can remember, so I'm basically in a constant state of itchy snot-dom.
Moving on...
I drove this morning because I needed flexibility and the f-ing lot was full again. As is always my luck, when I'm driving there are no riders, and when I'm riding there are no drivers. I sat in the front of the line of cars for almost 15 minutes this morning. (OH, and as a side note, that skinny little pencil neck geek that goes to my destination but decided to take a car BEHIND me in the back of the line this morning because he didn't have to walk as far--making me wait EVEN LONGER--is officially blacklisted from my car FOREVER. If he walks up, I'm changing my location. Period. That guy just crossed me on the wrong morning!) Where was I?
Right, so I drove in today.
Thank goodness two riders finally came along who know the rules and got into the car. But the woman in the backseat (where my baby seat is) gets into the car still puffing on her cancer stick until the very last second. She puffs out a big lung full of smoke that basically did that little devil swirl in the air before firmly settling into the fabric of my poor little girl's seat (who just so happens to be suffering from allergies as bad as me). And of course, she didn't do a full exhale, so as she's talking and laughing at her own bad, humorless wit, she's exhaling little puffs of smoke into the air over and over again. As a recovering smoker, this both offends me and makes me want to smoke a quick cigarette again (I know, if you've never smoked, you are thinking I'm SICK). Anyway, she's sitting back there destroying one of my few precious sanctuaries from allergy torture by polluting my car with her smoke. But that's not the worst part!!!!!!!!!!
She's one of those guilty-conscience smokers who KNOWS she stinks of cigarettes but doesn't want to. So, what does she doe? That's right, you guessed it. She overcompensates for it by bathing in obnoxious perfume. Obnoxious is actually too kind a word to describe the toxic WMD she sprayed on herself this morning. In fact, now that I think about it, she did look a little suspicious....maybe I should call DHS or the FBI. I'll put that on my Outlook Tasker for later today.
I'm trying to drive in with a tissue in one hand, snot queuing at my nostrils just waiting to pour out, trying to adjust the air vents to blow her smoke and perfume away from me as I pass about 400 VA State Troopers trying to quickly compensate for their broken quotas for April. I was pretty worried that I was going to start swerving and vomiting because I was being poisoned by the Fairy Urine this woman tried to spray over her smoke-soaked work clothes. Then I started wondering if this was some sort of new terrorist weapon that could be used to kill brain cells of government workers one by one, and I started to wonder if it was best that I try to get pulled over to notify the police to prevent her from entering her office and poisoning everyone.
But then I woke up from my seasonal allergy haze and realized she was just a poor smoker who hates the fact that she can't break the habit. So she covers herself in the only perfume she can actually still smell with what's left of her nose-lining. Whatever "flower" is the base component of that perfume is, without a doubt, the worst smelling flower God ever created. If it can break through my wall of congestion enough to irritate me, it should be on Al Gore's list of banned chemicals that are bad for the environment. Come to think of it, it DID start to get a few degrees warmer while she was in my car. Maybe there is some validity to Al Gore's scientifically unfounded theory.
Nah.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Slugging Confessional
I think I have to change my name and give myself an unofficial PhD. I appear to attract people who want to confess some of their darkest deeds and deepest secrets, and I don't even know them. I can't help but picture some of the episodes of that horrible, but captivating HBO special "Taxicab Confessions." If you haven't seen it, it's basically people acting badly in taxicabs and the driver egging them on. Usually you see and hear some pretty strange stuff.
When you think of slugging in DC, you can pretty much assume a generally affluent, educated commuter joining the throngs of other affluent, educated commuters to form a relatively boring crowd of affluent, educated robots marching into DC to fire up their Dell desktop computers in their cubicles. At least that is what I used to think until some of these folks started sharing some of the darker aspects of their personalities. It's amazing what people will blurt out in an hour long ride to work with strangers!!!
To be fair, I've become friends with some of these people. I will not go into some of the sordid details of their lives out of respect. But the anonymous ones who choose to air their dirty laundry to a stranger, I won't really feel so bad about summarizing those.
I actually think it started with the Pope's visit. It seemed like once he landed in the U.S. everyone became a Catholic to some degree. People were feeling the need to just make their sins public. I don't recall anyone asking for forgiveness, but sometimes just saying it out loud can be an act of contrition and repentance all on its own.
Over the last few weeks, I've heard about random sluggers' adulterous affairs, cheating spouses, illegitimate children, money problems, drinking problems, sexual dysfunction (my personal favorite), extended family disputes, property disputes, disrespectful children, wedding plans, divorce plans, travel plans, and career plans. Most of this falls into the popular category of "WTMI" (for those not in with the cool kids, that's "way too much information").
I don't consider myself nosy, nor do I consider myself a gossiper. But this slugging experience has started to intrigue me. I'm always wondering what people will tell me, just how personal they will get. Maybe it's just my nature, but unless I know you and trust you, I don't just vomit my personal problems all over people. Perhaps these people haven't figured out that they will see the same faces again and again. Perhaps they don't care. It bothers me to know that someone I hardly know knows my personal business, out of context, and is probably judging me. I know. You are asking yourself right now if I'm judging these folks.
ABSOLUTELY!!! :)
Nah, not really judging them so much as using them to form a larger picture of life against which I can compare my own.
In some cases, I feel better about myself and my life based on what I hear. In some cases, I hear about something someone is going through, and I feel somewhat pessimistic about my experiences. In others all together, I feel sympathetic or empathetic, and I try to offer advice or understanding because I have been there or done that.
Overall, I've noticed that it happens more when I drive. I think it's because people know you are watching the road and won't make eye contact with them. It usually happens in those earliest moments before the sun comes up. In fact, it seems that the talking slows or stops as the sun comes up. It happens most often with people who know you just enough to recognize your face or car, but there is rarely a name exchange. The conversation nearly always ends with a farewell wish for the best and an empty promise that everything will be OK.
If you've ever been to confession, you are seeing the spooky comparisons here right?
I guess you could say that this is basically supporting proof for the soul-cleansing experience of confession, no matter how you do it. Sometimes our burdens can become too heavy, and we need to know that someone else out there will carry them for us. Another common thread with these people is that they all seem to be missing that one person to whom they can go to be completely honest and open. They live lives that require them to lean on someone, anyone for at least a few minutes even at the expense of their pride or reputation.
As Oscar Wilde once wrote, "it is the confession, not the priest, that gives us absolution." So, those who don't seek priests or don't believe in the formal act of confession seek therapists or friends. In Washington DC, they seek a fellow slugger.
Dr. Jill
Hours: 6-7am and 3-4 pm, by appointment only as seats are limited.
(remember, I'm changing my name and giving myself a PhD)
When you think of slugging in DC, you can pretty much assume a generally affluent, educated commuter joining the throngs of other affluent, educated commuters to form a relatively boring crowd of affluent, educated robots marching into DC to fire up their Dell desktop computers in their cubicles. At least that is what I used to think until some of these folks started sharing some of the darker aspects of their personalities. It's amazing what people will blurt out in an hour long ride to work with strangers!!!
To be fair, I've become friends with some of these people. I will not go into some of the sordid details of their lives out of respect. But the anonymous ones who choose to air their dirty laundry to a stranger, I won't really feel so bad about summarizing those.
I actually think it started with the Pope's visit. It seemed like once he landed in the U.S. everyone became a Catholic to some degree. People were feeling the need to just make their sins public. I don't recall anyone asking for forgiveness, but sometimes just saying it out loud can be an act of contrition and repentance all on its own.
Over the last few weeks, I've heard about random sluggers' adulterous affairs, cheating spouses, illegitimate children, money problems, drinking problems, sexual dysfunction (my personal favorite), extended family disputes, property disputes, disrespectful children, wedding plans, divorce plans, travel plans, and career plans. Most of this falls into the popular category of "WTMI" (for those not in with the cool kids, that's "way too much information").
I don't consider myself nosy, nor do I consider myself a gossiper. But this slugging experience has started to intrigue me. I'm always wondering what people will tell me, just how personal they will get. Maybe it's just my nature, but unless I know you and trust you, I don't just vomit my personal problems all over people. Perhaps these people haven't figured out that they will see the same faces again and again. Perhaps they don't care. It bothers me to know that someone I hardly know knows my personal business, out of context, and is probably judging me. I know. You are asking yourself right now if I'm judging these folks.
ABSOLUTELY!!! :)
Nah, not really judging them so much as using them to form a larger picture of life against which I can compare my own.
In some cases, I feel better about myself and my life based on what I hear. In some cases, I hear about something someone is going through, and I feel somewhat pessimistic about my experiences. In others all together, I feel sympathetic or empathetic, and I try to offer advice or understanding because I have been there or done that.
Overall, I've noticed that it happens more when I drive. I think it's because people know you are watching the road and won't make eye contact with them. It usually happens in those earliest moments before the sun comes up. In fact, it seems that the talking slows or stops as the sun comes up. It happens most often with people who know you just enough to recognize your face or car, but there is rarely a name exchange. The conversation nearly always ends with a farewell wish for the best and an empty promise that everything will be OK.
If you've ever been to confession, you are seeing the spooky comparisons here right?
I guess you could say that this is basically supporting proof for the soul-cleansing experience of confession, no matter how you do it. Sometimes our burdens can become too heavy, and we need to know that someone else out there will carry them for us. Another common thread with these people is that they all seem to be missing that one person to whom they can go to be completely honest and open. They live lives that require them to lean on someone, anyone for at least a few minutes even at the expense of their pride or reputation.
As Oscar Wilde once wrote, "it is the confession, not the priest, that gives us absolution." So, those who don't seek priests or don't believe in the formal act of confession seek therapists or friends. In Washington DC, they seek a fellow slugger.
Dr. Jill
Hours: 6-7am and 3-4 pm, by appointment only as seats are limited.
(remember, I'm changing my name and giving myself a PhD)
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Why Working in DC Only Sucks Most of the Time
Ahhh, Washington, DC, the seat of the national government. What isn't there to love? On any given day, amidst the beautiful landscape of monuments and museums, you can find protesters, politicians, street hustlers (also see politicians), and oceans of robotic government workers (see those of us who work for said politicians and street hustlers). Finishing out that beautiful picture are hundreds of thousands of cars pouring into the city at the same exact moment creating a beautiful collage of colors and textures. There are some days that are more lovely than others. Right now, the sun is shining, the temperature is mild, flowers are blooming, and the freaks are out in full force.
The Pope is in town, and every wacko known to man is either here to see him or to protest him. Only in DC can you find love and hate all in the same place. When you have a buffet of political causes and world renowned leaders to choose from , you can even turn your love and/or hate for any topic into a full time job. Because this is a monumentally historic moment, security has to be beefed up drastically. Roads have to be closed. Buildings have to be closed off and used as spotter locations. Metro service has to be increased, and parking fees have to quadruple. So for those of us with REAL full time jobs, monumentally historic moments like the Pope's visit became monumental pains in the ass. (Yes, I'm Catholic.)
I just so happen to work close enough to the beautiful new Washington Nationals Stadium where Pope Benedict XVI will say Mass tomorrow that life has the potential to really suck for a while. Today, he's traveling across town to visit the President, etc etc. He's conducting Pope business. Meanwhile, the lowly minions serving the great and valueless dollar must figure out ways to get to work around various road closures, blockades and checkpoints.
Yesterday, just as I was leaving work, the Pope was landing in our beautiful capital, and the city was vibrating with ringing church bells and squealing sirens. Traffic, at rush hour, was stopped or diverted from the busiest roads known to man.
In case I haven't mentioned it, also mixed in with the politicians, protesters, street hustlers, government minions, and general freaks you can find a very large, unwanted selection of media representatives. Everyone from ABC, NBC, CBS, FOX, CNN, CSPAN, FOXNEWS, Discovery Channel, Telemundo, Disney, Wayne's World, whatever, has cameras set up and rolling in my direct line of commuting. Every other media wonk is standing around flashing a press badge hoping to hear or see something that will win him or her the coveted "who gives a shit" prize for writing something completely useless.
Tomorrow will be worse. Oh so much worse. Bridges and roads in and around the city are going to close starting at 5AM. They are expecting at LEAST 500,000 people to be wandering the streets near the stadium hoping for a Pontiff glimpse. This is on top of the 50,000 attendees inside the stadium. Oh and yes, just as DC rush hour begins, the transit system will flash us all a very large middle finger and wish us a good day.
But here is why working in DC only sucks most of the time.
I'm working from home tomorrow! :)
For the rest of you unlucky bastards, ENJOY! Just remember, I sat for 7 hours on I95 for no reason. The cosmos owe me one!
The Pope is in town, and every wacko known to man is either here to see him or to protest him. Only in DC can you find love and hate all in the same place. When you have a buffet of political causes and world renowned leaders to choose from , you can even turn your love and/or hate for any topic into a full time job. Because this is a monumentally historic moment, security has to be beefed up drastically. Roads have to be closed. Buildings have to be closed off and used as spotter locations. Metro service has to be increased, and parking fees have to quadruple. So for those of us with REAL full time jobs, monumentally historic moments like the Pope's visit became monumental pains in the ass. (Yes, I'm Catholic.)
I just so happen to work close enough to the beautiful new Washington Nationals Stadium where Pope Benedict XVI will say Mass tomorrow that life has the potential to really suck for a while. Today, he's traveling across town to visit the President, etc etc. He's conducting Pope business. Meanwhile, the lowly minions serving the great and valueless dollar must figure out ways to get to work around various road closures, blockades and checkpoints.
Yesterday, just as I was leaving work, the Pope was landing in our beautiful capital, and the city was vibrating with ringing church bells and squealing sirens. Traffic, at rush hour, was stopped or diverted from the busiest roads known to man.
In case I haven't mentioned it, also mixed in with the politicians, protesters, street hustlers, government minions, and general freaks you can find a very large, unwanted selection of media representatives. Everyone from ABC, NBC, CBS, FOX, CNN, CSPAN, FOXNEWS, Discovery Channel, Telemundo, Disney, Wayne's World, whatever, has cameras set up and rolling in my direct line of commuting. Every other media wonk is standing around flashing a press badge hoping to hear or see something that will win him or her the coveted "who gives a shit" prize for writing something completely useless.
Tomorrow will be worse. Oh so much worse. Bridges and roads in and around the city are going to close starting at 5AM. They are expecting at LEAST 500,000 people to be wandering the streets near the stadium hoping for a Pontiff glimpse. This is on top of the 50,000 attendees inside the stadium. Oh and yes, just as DC rush hour begins, the transit system will flash us all a very large middle finger and wish us a good day.
But here is why working in DC only sucks most of the time.
I'm working from home tomorrow! :)
For the rest of you unlucky bastards, ENJOY! Just remember, I sat for 7 hours on I95 for no reason. The cosmos owe me one!
Monday, April 14, 2008
Moving in slow motion
OK, enough bitching about my not updating my blog since I got back from vacation! :)
You know how it is. You come back from vacation, and you need a few weeks to readjust your attitude. I've simply been struggling to remember why I came back to work at all! But I'm back, and so are the stories.
Have you ever had those days when it feels like you are moving in slow motion all the time?? Today is one of those days for me. I can't really figure out why, but I know it's progressing at an alarming pace. Maybe it's because I'm so doped up on allergy medication in celebration of the blooming of spring, or maybe it's because I'm still not sure why I'm still here. Either way, today, my life is moving in slow motion, and I'm on the outside watching it all happen.
I arrived at the lot, late, because nobody would cooperate this morning. I had an overly tired child, and I was overly groggy myself. One of my dogs decided that she would take a break from her normal in and out morning routine to conduct a thorough inspection of every blade of grass within an acre of my house. Normally this would make me somewhat stressed and agitated. Instead, I was just standing there watching it all happening and thinking to myself "this sucks." That's the best I could come up with!
So I finally arrived at the lot, and there are people in the line who instantly recognized me. So they stepped out of line to jump into my car before I fully pulled up. Unfortunately, at the same time, I noticed a man at the front of the line who was also going to my destination. Alas, it was too late to stop them from jumping rank, and I sat and watched this guy's face curl up in anger...in slow motion. I did the "I'm not looking in your direction" departure, avoiding all eye contact or recognition. What could I do? I just didn't have a fast enough reaction time to stop the violation!
Much to my disappointment, one of those people line jumping is the most talkative person on the planet. This is not hyperbole my friends. This person will make you wish you were deaf. And s/he talks about absolutely nothing I could possibly care about even under threat of waterboarding. I drove in with these lips flapping in my ear 1000 miles an hour, but all I could hear was the Charlie Brown teacher voice. "mwah mwah mmmwah wah" over and over again. Since I had no clue what s/he was saying or why, I basically just nodded my head in agreement. I could have been agreeing to drive him/her to work for life, and I wouldn't have known any better. It was as if I had lost complete control of my brain, and my brain was checking out.
Even now, I'm sitting here typing this, and I think it's taken me an hour. I could be wrong. It could be 10 minutes. But right now, everything is moving so slowly that I just can't tell the difference.
So tomorrow when I show up to slug to work, there will be an angry man gunning for me, a talkative person waiting to give me updates on something I have no background on, and possibly a missing dog howling at me. I hope my reflexes can catch up.
For now, I'm going for Round 2 of the caffeine war.
You know how it is. You come back from vacation, and you need a few weeks to readjust your attitude. I've simply been struggling to remember why I came back to work at all! But I'm back, and so are the stories.
Have you ever had those days when it feels like you are moving in slow motion all the time?? Today is one of those days for me. I can't really figure out why, but I know it's progressing at an alarming pace. Maybe it's because I'm so doped up on allergy medication in celebration of the blooming of spring, or maybe it's because I'm still not sure why I'm still here. Either way, today, my life is moving in slow motion, and I'm on the outside watching it all happen.
I arrived at the lot, late, because nobody would cooperate this morning. I had an overly tired child, and I was overly groggy myself. One of my dogs decided that she would take a break from her normal in and out morning routine to conduct a thorough inspection of every blade of grass within an acre of my house. Normally this would make me somewhat stressed and agitated. Instead, I was just standing there watching it all happening and thinking to myself "this sucks." That's the best I could come up with!
So I finally arrived at the lot, and there are people in the line who instantly recognized me. So they stepped out of line to jump into my car before I fully pulled up. Unfortunately, at the same time, I noticed a man at the front of the line who was also going to my destination. Alas, it was too late to stop them from jumping rank, and I sat and watched this guy's face curl up in anger...in slow motion. I did the "I'm not looking in your direction" departure, avoiding all eye contact or recognition. What could I do? I just didn't have a fast enough reaction time to stop the violation!
Much to my disappointment, one of those people line jumping is the most talkative person on the planet. This is not hyperbole my friends. This person will make you wish you were deaf. And s/he talks about absolutely nothing I could possibly care about even under threat of waterboarding. I drove in with these lips flapping in my ear 1000 miles an hour, but all I could hear was the Charlie Brown teacher voice. "mwah mwah mmmwah wah" over and over again. Since I had no clue what s/he was saying or why, I basically just nodded my head in agreement. I could have been agreeing to drive him/her to work for life, and I wouldn't have known any better. It was as if I had lost complete control of my brain, and my brain was checking out.
Even now, I'm sitting here typing this, and I think it's taken me an hour. I could be wrong. It could be 10 minutes. But right now, everything is moving so slowly that I just can't tell the difference.
So tomorrow when I show up to slug to work, there will be an angry man gunning for me, a talkative person waiting to give me updates on something I have no background on, and possibly a missing dog howling at me. I hope my reflexes can catch up.
For now, I'm going for Round 2 of the caffeine war.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
