Tag Archives: humor

I like to think of road rage as a personality test.

17 Oct

For the umpteenth year in a row, DC has been named America’s worst city when it comes to traffic. Considering I’ve only put 13,000 miles on my car in the last three years, it’s hard for me to weigh in with any real authority, but I will say that I can generally get to my office faster on foot (25 minutes) than I can by car.

While I don’t love it, at least I can understand rush hour traffic. Hundreds of thousands of people are trying to get to roughly the same place, at the same time. That’s naturally going to lead to some gridlock.

What I don’t understand is weekend traffic. Nothing makes me more infuriated than when I think I’m going to run a quick errand — and end up sitting in my car for an hour trying to leave the District on a Saturday. Which is exactly what happened this weekend.

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I’m just here for the books.

11 Oct

Happy Columbus Day, old man.

I walk to the MLK Jr. branch of the DC public library on Saturday to pick up a book I had on hold. It was a gorgeous day, so I was glad to invent a purpose for a four mile walk.

The city was kind of odd — despite the great weather, it was desserted in areas that are normally nuts on the weekend, and over-run with people in areas normally desserted. I suppose I could’ve solved that mystery earlier by picking up a copy of the Washington Post, and realizing a) It was Columbus Day weekend, so many locals were traveling, and b) It was Columbus Day weekend, so Taste of DC was luring people downtown on the weekend.

In any case, I was caught off guard when I approached the library, and saw a virtual party in motion. Lining the street in front of it was a MetroBus with representatives handing out literature about the bus schedule, and a Whitman Walker van providing free HIV testing.

On my way into the library, I passed Mayor  Vincent Gray, glad-handing with a few fans while his bodyguard looked on. (At least, I assume that was his bodyguard. Or his especially thuggish looking cousin. You never know in DC.)

This dog belongs in a library.

Inside the library, the trip continued. A live gospel/jazz band was playing (on Volume 12!) while 50+ people (mostly senior citizens wearing shirts made of Old Glory) looked on, clapping and bobbing. I threaded by way through the crowd to retrieve my book from the Holds shelf.

I got distracted in the Popular Collections room, browsing CDs while tapping my toes to the band’s version of “Papa Was a Rolling Stone,” but apparently not as distracted as the woman who had walked her two DOGS into the library and somehow lost the leash of the massive Golden Retriever. I looked up just in time to see it sprint out of Popular Collections, into the main foyer and across the stage where the Jazz Band was performing.

I can’t really get on the owner for being slow to the draw, because when I went to check out my book, I asked the clerk what the occasion was. “Is this a Columbus Day festival?” I asked.

He looked at me with some degree of incredulity before scanning the crowd, which — as I followed his eyes, I realized — was made up primarily of people sporting wheelchairs, canes or walkers.

“This is in celebration of Americans with Disabilities,” he told me.

And suddenly, it all made sense — the extra-loud music, the free medical tests, the dogs in a library, the flag-themed clothing.

As someone wearing a tank top and sporting a yoga mat strapped to me, I felt especially foolish for having trotted through the crowd. Next time? I’m going to take advantage of that free vision test.

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Things I witnessed while peering between my fingers.

7 Oct

Have you ever seen someone’s eye get sliced open? I have!

Alan got LASIK yesterday, and I went along out of morbid curiosity  for moral support. I’m here to tell you: it is not for the feint of heart.

I met him at the office just before his procedure. By that time he’d had about an hour to process some anti-anxiety pills they fed him, so when I greeted him in the waiting room, he was running a one-man comedy show for the benefit of his fellow patients and insisting that the drugs were doing nothing for him.

Since he was only minutes away from having parts of his eye destroyed by a laser, I’m thinking the drugs were definitely working.

When it was his time, I watched the procedure through a glass wall, seeing both Alan in real life and a magnified image broadcast on a monitor. And I kind of wanted to barf.

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Clearly you love your job. Not.

3 Oct

I’m tempted to start a short film project featuring the concierge in my office building. She’s a heavy set woman in her mid-forties, and she clearly hates her job. Or me. One of the two.

I’m generally friendly to strangers. I go out of my way to say hi in the elevator. I strike up conversations over the bathroom sink. I ask cashiers how their day is going and actually listen to the answer. I figure we’re all in this together, so why not get to know each other a bit?

Apparently the concierge disagrees with my approach. Every time I greet her in passing, she gives me a stare that borders on hostile — a stare that I would probably reserve for people whose incompetence negatively and directly impacted my day. Oh, and she never actually answers me, even when I frame up the exchange with a question.

“Good weekend?” I’ll ask on Monday morning. She stares back as if I formed the words using Pig Latin.

I’ve gathered that she does speak English, because there are sometimes people hanging out talking to her. But for whatever reason, she’s decided she doesn’t want anything to do with me.

Bless her heart – that’s not the best approach to take with me. Because my response to that? Game On.

Fine line between a concierge and an animatronic chicken.

Case in point: Today, heading out for lunch, when I stepped off the elevator, she was in the middle of a huge yawn and we locked eyes. So as I walked by, I tapped her desk and said, “Late night?!” and winked at her. (No response, btw.)

Other days, I’ll make comments that are ludicrous – like whipping in from a downpour and commenting, “Been outside lately? It’s gorgeous!” without a trace of sarcasm.

And still: no response. I’m beginning to think she’s an Animatronic Concierge that our property management company leased from Chuck E. Cheese.

Each day I plan to get a bit more ridiculous in my attempts to engage her, just to see what will happen. In my mind, I’ve gone as far as to imagine walking in pantless and asking her if she can recommend a dry cleaner. Or bringing in a cat in a cat carrier filled with squirrels.

Because those are the places my mind goes. That’s normal, right?

I just can’t understand why she won’t be my friend.

 

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In which we propose bringing back maternity pants.

30 Sep

I don’t even how it came up, but on chat earlier today, my sister and I agreed that pants suck.

(The guys reading this are like, “Huh?” so let me explain.)

Alicia summarized it best, so I’ll just cite her reasons:

  1. If you get them so they fit when you’re standing up, they cut into your gut when you sit down.
  2. If you get them so they’re comfortable to sit in, you can pull them down without unbuttoning them when you stand up.

(All the women are nodding.)

I had to laugh because I had a perfect example. Yesterday, returning from NYC, I was wearing pants that fit well when I’m standing. But on the train, they felt like they were bisecting my muffin top, so I took (what I deemed to be) appropriate action: I unbuttoned and partially unzipped them.

The problem was that I completely forgot until I exited the train. Walking down the platform with my bag trailing me, my pants started sliding down my legs with each step. Hello, Washington!

Apparently, in my home state of Michigan, if the infographic above is to be believed, this would’ve been a punishable offense.

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