Let me just start out by saying the DC Metro is cheap and a great way to get around the city. That being said, it’s terrifying at night. I will also say, that I had to google a lot of terms after the night was over to really decipher what these people were talking about. I feel old.
This past weekend I went out drinking with a few friends in the middle of DC, which is like 10 metro stops from my house. I took the metro in and had a fun day of drag queens and drinks. When it came time to leave drama ensued.
The yellow line wasn’t working, so I had to actually think about how to get home. This is typical, something is always down in DC -don’t even get me started on the escalators. I figured out how to take the green to blue, which, with my terrible sense of direction, is an accomplishment.
I got on the train and had my own row, practically my own car; it was quite peaceful. After two stops the first terror joined the train: children with toys. There must have been some sort of Disney on Ice because there were Mickey ears and glowing princess wands everywhere. Each child had a cotton candy blue stained mouth and very sticky looking hands attached to exhausted-looking parents.
I could feel the sticky sugar looming in the air and I thought I was going to gag. The children were either completely wired on sugar and bouncing off the walls, or knocked out in an adults arms. The sugar-crazed ones were loud and even jumping or running. Jumping in place is not a fun activity in my mind, but apparently it’s amazing to little kids.
While these children are literally jumping and running around, all I could think about was how an hour earlier I was chugging vodka sodas and joking with drag queens about various body parts. I was even wearing a shirt that said “V is for Vodka.” I truly felt these parents were going to smell the vodka and shame me for my life choices. But really, of the two of us, who had more fun: the parents who had to sit in a sea of screaming, sticky children or the girl who.. didn’t?
Two agonizingly loud and sticky stops later we awkwardly flocked to the platform to switch lines. Thank all things holy, the children mostly went different directions and my train arrived immediately! It was a “7000 Series Train” as they like to regularly announce. These trains are the best; they’re new, blue, more comfortable, and don’t have 30 years’ worth of questionable stains built up.
I got on the nearly empty train, but had a terrible time finding a seat that wasn’t sticky or covered in trash. I finally settled next to a seat that had a banana peel on the ground. It’s sad that a rotting banana peel was the cleanest piece of trash on the train. I guess I should have known as it was at the end of the day and the trains don’t get cleaned throughout the day.
Side note: Y ‘all DC metro-riders need to respect these “7000 Series Trains” because the brown 1987 trains aren’t due to be retired for another 4-5 years. Not to mention the poor maintenance staff that has to clean up after your disrespectful, nasty-ass!
Anyway, as soon as I got cozy near the rotting banana peel, I heard a gentleman behind me laughing to himself. I looked over and he wasn’t watching anything or listening to anything. He was just smiling and laughing. Obviously, I immediately looked in a different direction to avoid eye contact. I’m a huge fan of avoiding conversations with strangers.
This guy had a weird Rambo-style bandolier bullet belt, but instead of bullets, he had small vials of neon liquids. Was he just at a rave? Was it a weird new type of drug? Or did he just have a weird sense of style? I guess you have to give him credit, he was confident in himself and whatever caused his laughter made him seem genuinely happy. You do you, neon Rambo man!
At the next stop this incredibly fabulous individual boarded and sat across from me. I feel like I was staring, but it was purely out of jealousy, not confusion or anything negative. The individual had a fabulous red coat, fashionably large glasses, and great boots. I’m not sure what gender this person identified as, but they had incredible style and I wish I was that bold.
Shortly after we left the station, I noticed a guy standing in front of two women at the other end of the train. This guy was really pale, almost blue, and covered in pock marks. He was wearing a tight, gray track suit -I believe the youths call them “joggers” and carrying a large black duffle bag. He was talking to the women and seemed really hyper and very persistent, but in a kind of friendly way; the girls clearly looked uncomfortable. It reminded me of that MadTV sketch “can I have your number?”.
There were about three other men around these women, but no one seemed to step up for the women. I thought about whether I should stand up or not, and what I would even say. I always imagine I would stand up and do the right thing in events like this, but this time I wasn’t sure if they needed help or if they’d be offended that I stepped in. Eventually they said something to make him walk away and say their husbands were very lucky.
The gray man started walking in my direction and politely commented on the style of the fabulous individual across from me. Then pulled out his own phone to say that he’s trying to change up his style and showed the fabulous individual a picture on his phone. I don’t know what it was, but the fabulous individual didn’t seem to appreciate it.
The next thing I know gray guy started amicably asking neon Rambo man how he was doing and what he was up to. Neon Rambo man didn’t seem to appreciate the attention, but he obliged. Gray guy decided to tell neon Rambo man about how much he likes “essential oils” (Google was inconclusive whether this was slang) and that his “plug” (drug dealer) recently went to jail and will be there for a long time. Neon Rambo man was offended and asked if he looked like a “plug.” Gray guy started mumbling and muttering things to himself, still kind of light-hearted, but things turned quickly.
Gray guy started talking more coherently about how he is “strapped” (carrying a gun) and neon Rambo man needed to back off. Neon Rambo man said he was also “strapped.” This is when the fabulous individual and myself both shifted in our seats to sit and stare incredibly intently forward and away from the drama.
In my mind I’m thinking that I’d get caught in gunfire and I’d either die over “essential oils” or I’d have to go on the news and look like this dumb girl who didn’t know to get out of the way. Again, I like to think I could be a hero and stop someone from doing something to cause mass damage. I feel like I have enough body fat that a bullet wouldn’t get to an internal organ as easily. Does it work that way? I should look into that.
As I’m imagining getting shot over “essential oils” I’m questioning which photo my family would choose to use on the news and in my obituary. Y ’all better pick a good one! Maybe I should designate that now? Again, something to look into. I’m also thinking how that wasn’t an outfit I’d want the EMTs to find my body in. Plus, if for some reason they had to cut off my pants they’d be in for a horrible surprise… laundry day undies. I really wouldn’t want that outfit to be my afterlife clothes either. Imagine showing up at the pearly gates wearing a shirt that says “V is for Vodka.”
My life is flashing before my eyes, regrets of not drinking more, and regrets of wearing mis-matched underwear all filled my thoughts. Why did I stop drinking? Life is fleeting! Have another vodka soda! You never know when two weirdos will take to the metro with guns blazing!
Eventually, my dumb thoughts bring me back to the moment and I realize the mumbling and gun talk had stopped. Once again, I caused myself more anxiety than necessary. Gray guy then decides neon Rambo man won’t be his new plug and starts to walk away. He walked to the end of the train and opened the door to switch cars (huge no-no!), but then neon Rambo man said he couldn’t go that way. Gray guy then walked to the other end of the car, opened that door and walked right out while the train was still moving. I’m not sure what sort of walkway there is between trains, but what in the actual fudge? What would have happened if the train jerked? D.E.A.D.
After he switched cars I looked over and it looks like he just kept going so I don’t really know what he was attempting to do there. Was he on drugs? Was he just crazy? I’ll never know. We all sort of sat there stunned at what had just happened. Luckily, we weren’t far from my station at that point.
In summary: people are gross, blue trains are good, don’t go out in laundry day undies, have that extra drink, but don’t assume you’re going to die, and don’t switch cars. The DC Metro is great, but it really is full of characters.