Photo Essay: My (boring) commute to work.

12 Mar

Not sure how you dealt with “Spring Ahead,” but I woke up to find myself facing a commute lit by moonlight. At 7 am. Rather than spend a mile and a half bitching about it being dark (which is apparently what other people were doing, based on what I overheard), I decided to whip out my phone and document my route.

It ain’t pithy, but this is (at least some of) what I encounter on my way to the office. Apparently it was too dark to get an action shot of the homeless man urinating against the post office door, but you get the gist. THIS is why I live in DC, folks.

UPDATE: Apparently I am an ass when it comes to building a slideshow. My apologies for posting this four different times, which inadvertently sent email alerts to you for each update. Can someone please help me find my thumbs? 

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Random: Unrelated observations from my week

11 Mar

Lessons in Flying

#1: They say that people seated in the exit row on airplanes must speak English, but it turns out, that’s not true. I know because I sat next to a hulking blond dude who responded to the question “Please confirm you speak English by responding with ‘Yes’ when I get to you.” After seven other people successfully said yes, Vlad looked at the flight attendant blankly, then said, “Da-di.” I don’t think that means yes in any language, but he was allowed to keep his seat.

#2: I saw a man digging through the recycling bin in the airport next to my gate. At first I thought he was homeless, looking for food, but then I smacked my head realizing homeless people generally don’t make it past security since they need both an ID and a boarding pass. Then I decided he was resourceful for using someone else’s newspaper instead of paying $20 for one from WH Smith. Now don’t ask me where I got that InStyle.

#3: The Boston-based flight attendant who helped us bounce back to DC on Friday deserves an A+ for enforcement. She made the announcement about stowing all portable electronica devices, then walked down the aisle, row by row, checking to make sure everyone had put them away. When she found people still using their phones, she said – with a thick Boston accent, “Really? Really? You heard my announcement and just decided to ignore it? C’mon. I’m an Italian mother. Don’t make me pop you with a spoon.”

Speaking of Boston

I was in Boston for a new hire training session. The last time I was there, I mistakenly tried to enter the classroom mid-session by quietly easing my way in through the room’s back door. Turns out, the door I’d eased open was to the EIS closet, rather than the classroom. Which must’ve made everyone who witnessed that wonder what technology I was trying to sneak up on. This time? No such idiocy.

There Goes MY Cordon Bleu

I tried to make polenta this weekend and now I’m considering buying a wrist brace. Have you ever tried to whisk cornmeal for 30+ minutes while you wait for it to firm up “until it begins to peel away from the edges of the pot?” I didn’t think so. It’s like stirring cement. Which is why I asked Alan to help. Although, he didn’t like the way I asked. Apparently it’s not funny to say, “Can you help me with this? I’d assume you’re better with repetitive wrist motions than I am.”

And THAT’S what I’ve been up to. You?

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Paved with good intentions…

5 Mar

My parents were in town this last weekend, so we walked down to the Smithsonian to see an Annie Lebowitz exhibit at the American Art Museum. On our way, we swung into Five Guys to grab a burger for lunch.

The portions are huge, so although we’d only ordered a small fry, we ended up with (what appeared to be) an entire order left over. Rather than toss the food, we packaged it neatly with some ketchup, napkins and a dish of peanuts to give to a homeless person.

Nice thought, right? Turns out, it was better in theory.

The first homeless man we passed was peering into a garbage can when we spotted him. I approached and held out the bag, saying, “Would you like some french fries?”

He didn’t make eye contact and just turned his head away from me a hawked a loogey on the sidewalk in response.

I’ll take that as a no.

The next person I approached was a disheveled looking guy pacing around a newspaper box talking to himself. I walked up and was in the process of presenting the bag to him, about to open my mouth, when I noticed he had a bluetooth in his ear and was apparently on the phone.

I quickly retracted my arm, leaving him standing there, staring at me, no doubt wondering why I’d just come and waved my Five Guys bag in his face.

Remarkably, as we neared the entrance to the museum, I still hadn’t found anyone to give the food to. I eyed the trashcan nervously and scanned the benches flanking the steps.

BINGO. An elderly woman sat there, looking a bit out of it and decidedly homeless. She was the last possibility to keep those fries from going in the trashcan. I strode up to her and – as I got closer – I realized she had a full goatee.

And yet, as we made eye contact, I had my doubts. Was she homeless? Or did she just lack a razor? Confused, I simply set the bag of french fries on the bench next to her and — not wanting to offend her if she wasn’t homeless — simply said — [ready for this?] —

“You might want to check this out.” 

Um. WHAT?! What kind of approach was that? It totally sounded creepy. Like – “Go ahead. Open this. There’s some crazy shit in here.”

She gave me a puzzled, searching look and I hustled back to my parents. “Quick! Let’s get in the museum,” I urged them.

“Why?” my mom asked. “What did she say?”

“Nothing,” I told her. “But I’m worried she might not be homeless and she might throw those fries at us.”

My mom shook her head. “No way. She was definitely homeless. She didn’t have any teeth, Alison.”

And at this point, I’m pretty sure my dad – who had watched all this silently – interjected with all seriousness, “Then those peanuts might have been a bad inclusion.”

Indeed.

Next time? I’ll just buy a paper from the Street Sense vendor. At least now I know why they wear flourescent vests.

This has nothing to do with this post. Other than that it's about a peanut and it's hilarious. That's where the relevance ends.

 

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Day late. Dollar short.

29 Feb

Hind-sight is 20/20. As are belated comebacks.

Everyone has that moment, well after the comic timing has run out, when they realize what they should’ve said or done in a situation. Right? I think entire episodes of Seinfeld were based on this.

I pride myself on being pretty good at being snappy in the moment – sometimes a bit too snappy, since I’ve been accused of being stuck in “perpetual smartass mode” by a few people. (You know who you are.)

And yet, my instincts failed me Sunday night when I saw the driver who hit me last year. I simply ducked my chin and kept walking, just trying to avoid a conversation since I knew how long-winded she could be. (I shuddered to think how she stayed at the hospital, telling me her life story while I waited for an MRI. Let’s just say, I could ghost write her memoirs without a follow-up interview.)

Anyway. Afterward, I chatted with Alan, telling him I’d seen her.

Alan: What did you do?
Me: What do you mean?
Alan: Did she recognize you?
Me: No! I kept my chin down and went by as fast as I could.
Alan: But she was in her car?
Me: Yep. The same car. 
<<PAUSE. Slow dawning of an epiphany.>>
Me: You know what I should’ve done?
Alan: Waved?
Me: No. Better.
Alan: What?
Me: I should’ve rolled across her hood.
Alan: Huh?
Me: Instead of walking in front of her car – I should’ve just rolled across her hood and kept walking.
Alan: Dude. She was so traumatized last year – that would’ve pushed her over the edge.
Me: Probably. She would either weep that she’d hit two pedestrians…
Alan: Or?
Me: Recognize me and think that I had actually flung myself into her windshield the first time on purpose.
Alan: Brilliant.

…

Fortunately, I know where she lives, so there’s always time for a do-over. I’ll let you know how it goes.

It would've looked kind of like this. Except I wasn't wearing a pervy trenchcoat.

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The planets are in alignment. Literally.

28 Feb

I did not take this photo. Some awesome photographer from Reuters did. I'm borrowing it to illustrate my story. Is that technically copyright infringement? I sure hope not.

Leaving yoga last night, I happened to look up and see the moon. Well, the moon (a sliver) and two very bright stars underneath it. My memory jogged to a Facebook post I’d read the night before, in which a friend had urged everyone to head outside and check out Venus and Jupiter, just under the moon.

I looked around and realized that what I was seeing was MUCH brighter than anything else in the sky, and I knew I was looking at planets. With my naked eyes. I became inexplicably excited and couldn’t take my eyes off them, except when passing other pedestrians. And I realized: apparently I’m the only person who finds planets to be a kinda big deal, because everyone else was shuffling along, talking on cell phones, not looking up.

I wanted to stop strangers and say, “Look up! Check it out! Those are PLANETS.” And I considered doing it – I assessed every person I walked past, trying to find someone I could share this marvel with. But that’s when I figured something out: when you’re walking alone, after dark, and you approach strangers, they’re going to think you’re either a) A criminal, or B) Crazy.

I couldn’t decide if the yoga mat over my shoulder helped or hurt my cause. On one hand, it showed that I wasn’t homeless (unless it was actually a bed roll), but on the other, it could mean that I was some kind of crazy Earth Mother who liked stars AND astrology.

This mild self-awareness prompted me to exercise some restraint and NOT approach strangers. However, if they’d studied me closely, they would’ve seen my eyes dancing from their faces up to the moon and back, much like a dog trying to hint that he’s ready for you to fill up his bowl. No one looked up. Their loss.

Unable to contain my enthusiasm, I called Alan and my sister and encouraged them to head outside, and sent my friend Betsy a text. I needed to share this with someone. I mean, it’s not every day that the planets are aligned so you can see them on a casual walk.

You know what else doesn’t happen everyday? Spotting the person who hit you with her vehicle. That’s right.

Walking down T Street, I was just about to cross the opening to an alley, when a Prius turned to enter. I hesitated for a moment before crossing its path (it was a Prius after all – and the same color as the one that hit me, at that!) and in that moment, I looked up at the driver. It was Tina. The woman whose face I had seen vividly through that same windshield once before.

Not sure how I recognized it.

I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me to bump into her (no pun intended) since she lives two blocks from me. But I did just celebrate my one year crashiversary (Feb 13!)  by observing that I hadn’t seen her since that night in the ER. Guess I celebrated too soon.

Ironically, for the first time since I’d set eyes on the moon, with the one person who stood a chance of recognizing me, I didn’t feel compelled to stop her and ask her to look up. Instead I just tucked my chin down and hustled past, glad for the anonymity.

Nestled back in my home, I googled “Venus, Jupiter, Moon” to make sure that what I’d seen were actually planets. (Yep!) But then I found this article that informed me I’d missed the real bonanza last May, when Mercury, Venus, Jupiter and Mars were visible to the naked eye, with Uranus and Neptune visible with binoculars.

WHAT?! I missed the chance to see SIX planets at once with nothing more than opera glasses? Where was I when this happened, and why didn’t anyone drag me outside? Also? Maybe this explains why no one mirrored my amazement last night. They probably all had seen six planets last year and would’ve been like, “Yawn. Big deal…” if I’d stopped to point out Venus and Jupiter.

It would’ve been kind of like that time in France when a couple stopped me and asked for directions and – because I couldn’t actually understand their question, I thought they were gesturing at a building that had caught fire the week before, so I’d excitedly responded to their simple inquiry with: “See that? It burn! It BURN! Burn big! Go bye!” Their eyes had grown large and they started backing away from me as if I were about to light them on fire.

So anyway. I guess there are three morals to this story: First, trying to engage strangers on the street is a recipe for looking crazy. Second, when the planets are in alignment, expect the unexpected. Third, if ever you don’t understand what someone has asked you, err on the side of giving them directions to a supermarket. At least you will have communicated something non-threatening and potentially helpful.

The good news? The planets will be visible for a few more weeks, so you haven’t missed your chance to see them. I just ask that if you DO see them and want to share the joy with a stranger, you point to the moon and tell someone how to get to FoodLion.

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