Fear and Loathing in the Nation’s Capital (Again)

So I went into DC today to meet a friend, one who I haven’t seen in quite some time.  She’s a cool gal with a good sense of humor, we were going to get our pictures taken with President Stephen Colbert’s portrait at the National Gallery.

Things went awry.

I arrive roughly 2 PM, when suddenly I realize I am in very, very  inappropriate attire for the protest du jour on the Mall.

I emerge from the Metro wearing a bright red jacket with “CCCP” and the hammer and sickle on it, along with arm patches featuring Soviet iconography.  I am suddenly focused on with laser-kill-vision by a significant number of Pro-life demonstrators who look rather unhappy with me, and that the sanctity of my life may be something they’ll compromise on very soon.

I call my friend as I rush, hurriedly to somewhere that I won’t be curb-stomped by a horde of angry social conservatives, that the meeting place must change, she agrees with my assessment and we decide to meet in Chinatown.

Hours pass.

She never shows.

I’ve been up 28 hours or so at this point and she calls to say she can’t make it.  I handle it gracefully, proceed to have a fucking conniption in the middle of a Starbucks after hanging up, and trudge defeated back to the metro station.

I board the Orange Line, that which will ferry me back to my suburbian hell-hole of a neighborhood, when suddenly, disaster strikes!

The Pro-life rally seems to have let out, and many of them board en-masse, two stops later.

Panic sets in.

I turn to an attractive goth girl two seats behind me and say with the sincerity of Gandhi that she must sit in the seat next to me “RIGHT FUCKING NOW” otherwise I was about to be vivisected by a number of increasingly irate and confrontational activists.  She kindly obliges, and I make it back to my home with only a backache, severe exhaustion, and a bruised ego.

But I did get my picture taken with Stephen Colbert’s portrait.


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