Just like death and taxes
“I personally believe we developed language because of our deep inner need to complain.” ~Jane Wagner
Right around this time last year I wrote these two gems. Both were my way of putting my anger and disdain into fine literary prose, peppered with the word ‘fuck’ a few dozen times just for good measure and dramatic affect. I wanted those around me and visiting and breathing the same oxygen in this tiny nation’s capitol of ours to understand the basic principles of dealing with several thousand smart Type A personalities, as every year we Washingtonians deal with the same shit and frankly, something needed to be said. I wanted them to understand that if you get on our nerves we will have no choice but to shove you down the White Flint metro escalator. And do y’all know how long that sucker is?
Which leads me to this morning when I took an impromptu trip on the metro. In a perfectly fine/excited/anxious mood but good nonetheless; that is until I encountered the first set of escalators. I wanted to walk up on the LEFT side but could I? Of course not, because standing on the RIGHT side would really be too much of a hassle. No, no, please do take up the entire escalator with your fabulous Jordache fanny pack and I’ll just stand here and smile and wait while you enjoy all that DC has to offer.
On the first escalator, “Please move over” I said it nicely, yet with an air of authority which says that I live here and you are totally just not following the rules, but I understand. The offending party quickly moved.
On the second escalator, they were just STANDING. Just standing still acting like they didn’t have a care in the world. And given the surly mood I find myself in without some good old fashioned medication, I did as any average PMSing female would do: “STAND on one side, WALK on the other. Why is this so difficult for you?” Then shoved my way through, huffing and puffing, with a trail of angry turistas behind me yelling that they were in fact tourists and/or new. Maybe I didn’t get that memo from the way they just take up all the damn space on the little tiny escalator.
Later was free cone day. And oh my lord, don’t get me started. But there’s nothing like a line of children under the age of 7 screaming about ice cream and generally flailing themselves around, that will force a woman to seriously contemplate tubal ligation.
Labels: gruyere with that wine