The Metro in Washington DC

I've invited some of my readers to be guest authors on this blog because soon, they're going on a business trip to Washington DC, where they will undoubtedly ride the Metro to get around. I added them because one of my favorite public transit stories actually happened in Washington DC when I was in high school, and I'm sure they'll have similarly fun experiences.

Here's my story.

We went on a family trip in the summer to Washington DC. My parents had done a little bit of research beforehand by asking around some of their friends who had been there. They learned that the Metro will get you around anywhere you need to go, so we didn't rent a car or anything. Our flight got into Washington, we gathered up our luggage and the next step was to take the Metro to our hotel, so we went outside the airport, looking for the Metro stop. We were walking back and forth, not finding anything promising, when my mom suggested that we go back into the airport and ask someone or get a cab. Then we noticed a guy who looked homeless, walking towards us, chanting "Metrometrometrometrometro metrometrometrometro."

"Hey, I'll ask that guy. I bet he knows where it is," my dad said, feeling like this was the most brilliant idea of the trip so far. My mom, acting as the voice of reason, said, "Don't ask him! He's obviously crazy!"

"Nah," my dad said. "I'll be right back." As he headed towards the metrometrometrometro guy, my mom started muttering something about getting mugged and something about my dad not listening and this was a dumb idea.

"Excuse me," my dad interrupted the guy's mantra. "But could you tell us where the entrance to the Metro station is?"

The guy stopped. He put up his hand and pointed, and then he gave very clear, articulate instructions on how to get to the Metro station in the direction he was pointing. My dad said, "Thank you very much," and walked back to the rest of us while the homeless guy went back to chanting "Metrometrometrometrometrometro."

"There you go," my dad taunted my mom, as we headed off in the direction of the Metro station. "You could have gotten killed," my mom said. "I was pretty sure he'd know where the Metro station was," my dad put in a very practical tone. And we got to the Metro station without any problem, following the homeless guy's directions.

I found out on my last trip to DC that there are people whose job it is to hang out around places heavily trafficked by tourists and point out the easiest way to get to the Metro. And they could be mistaken for someone with more sinister motives. And on my last trip, the guy gave me a map to the Mall, including all the Metro stops, which came in very handy.

And they don't always walk around going "Metrometrometrometrometrometrometro."

Where's the eye soap?

On my way to the bus stop, Jason and were confronted by this sight. One I'd prefer not to have seen. It's nothing so horrific as the guy on the bus in Canada, but unpleasant. It also begs the question: did she not think her frilly shirt would flow in the breeze? And yes, that's her underwear sticking up over the waist of her pants. We had to look at this for blocks. Poor us.

A year without a license

This weekend, I moved so that I don't spend as much time (if any) on the bus. Don't get me wrong, it was fun and interesting, but I could think of so many more things I would rather do with four hours of every day. As a result, I may not have much more to contribute to this blog in the future.
That doesn't mean I won't still have amusing stories of things that happen as I get to deal with interesting people in transportation settings.

Take this weekend for example. We had reserved a U-Haul truck to put our life into and when I went to pick up the truck, the guy was entering my information into the computer and looked at my driver's license. Looked over to me and back to the license. "Do you have one that isn't expired?"

I had no response immediately. Like he thought I just carried around an expired license unless someone was serious, and I'd pull the current one out of my pocket. "Ta da!" I imagined he thought I'd say, flourishing my license with Siegfried and Roy flair.

"Uh, nope. That's the only one I've got. It's expired? Really?"

He handed back my license and it had expired in June of 2007. Good thing I've been taking the bus, because my license expired over a year ago.

While I waited for my wife to come back and get the truck, I looked up the hours of the DMV so that I could get that fixed as quickly as possible. I had to wait until today to renew my license, dreading having to spend time at the DMV, a department universally reviled for its inefficiency and abysmal customer service.

Today, I went to the office, which we had trouble finding because it had moved in the last 7 years. But once we found the entrance to the building, I had prepared myself for a long wait. I had my book, my phone, and I was mentally prepared to spend a lot of time there. I was pleasantly suprised that I only had time to read one page of my book before I got to the information desk, kind of like the concierge of the DMV. He handed me an application, a road rules book to take the written test again, and a number. I got to a place to sit, so that I could fill out the application, when a number I vaguely recognized popped up. "Hey, wait, that's my number!"

I got up to the desk and the guy asked "How are you doing today?"
"Great. I haven't had any time to fill this out, though."
"Well, I've got nothing important to do and we're not that busy today, you've got a desk and a pen, go ahead and do it right here."

It was great. Then I got a number, took the test (open-book with a touchscreen computer that scores the test immediately after you finish), I passed, and then I had to wait for them to call my name and take my picture. Waiting for my picture was the longest I had to wait and even that was only a few minutes. It was impressive. Other than the fact that I had to go in to get a new license, my experience at the DMV was pretty good. And now I can get a U-Haul truck. But I don't think I'll need one for a while.

I'm not five

So this month, I didn't buy a monthly bus pass, since I'm moving closer to work and there are other options. I got some tokens, which cover the transit fee. The only difference is that now I have to get a transfer ticket.

This morning, on the way down to work, the driver was hanging out around the bus, stretching his legs. So I paid my fare and got a transfer ticket because they're just sitting right there next to where you pay.

On the trip home in the afternoon, though, since it wasn't an end stop, the driver was in his seat. I paid my fare and he asked if I needed a transfer ticket. By this point, he was already underway. I said "Yes" and reached for one, not wanting to distract the guy from focusing on our physical safety.

He slapped my hand!

And then I got a lecture on how that was rude and I should just wait for him to hand it to me and some other things that I'll just leave undocumented.

I'll admit that sometimes, I'm not the most grown-up of grown-ups, but I don't think I'm young enough that slapping my hand... I don't even know how to finish that sentence.

I like to think that if our roles were switched, I'd go "WAIT! Let me get that for you." And then explained that he should have the driver hand it to him. But I'm not a bus driver, which I'm happy about.

And then there's this kid, who seems to be going to summer school. High school. And from the conversations I've overheard over the last couple of weeks, I'm guessing it's not to get a head start on the start of the next school year. Note the hairstyle that's beyond bad. The pants would be cool if they were tailored as more of a dressy slack than baggy pipes of fabric. And the t-shirt about 3 sizes too big. I think he's trying to get into that whole Joker vibe, but can't quite seem to get it together.

I tell you, if I were going to be a Batman supervillain, I'd want to be The Riddler. Suave, smart, and cool as a cucumber. Or maybe Black Mask. Also very dapper. Very deadly.