The 8th Circle

Rusty has graciously asked me, HRH King Friday XIII, to guest blog for WIHDC while he’s vacationing in Cape Cod, MA. He picked me because I’m a weaker writer, less witty, and completely unoriginal. My suckage ensures that Rusty’s predictable homecoming post about Beantown is better received by his readers than last time.

Some FYI about me. My frequent use of acronyms probably tipped you off that I’m a federal employee. You can infer that I’ve lived in DC for at least 2 years because I introduced myself by talking about my career. Next follows the DC formality of explaining my job in such a way that makes me sound more accomplished and cooler than you: I work on the Hill as a congressional aide. If we were speaking in person, I’d follow that last statement by whipping out a blackberry and slapping a bluetooth thing to my ear.

But fear not, my fellow haters, for we are kin. Forget I wear a lanyard around my neck (I actually keep mine stuffed in my pocket out of shame). Rest assured that I have a deep seething hatred for Washington, DC. I could prove it by complaining about Metro or telling you how the main DMV office ironically lacks a parking lot, but instead I’ll share something that happened my first week in Washington, DC.

[On a brisk Saturday afternoon in October 2004, I was driving through Northeast after getting my oil changed when a man pulls up beside me waving his hands wildly. We stop at a red light. I roll down my window.]

Guy: Shit, man! Your right front tire looks wobbly like it’s going to fall off. Better pull over.

Me: Really?!

Guy: Oh yeah, man. Pull over!

Me: [Confused] But I just came from Jiffy Lube. They checked my tire pressure and all that.

Guy: They loosened your tires by mistake. I’m a mechanic. Pull over and I’ll check ‘em out.

Me: [Gullibly] Gee thanks, mister! Ok!

[We both pull over. Guy gets out of his car and a second man hiding in guy’s back car seat suddenly emerges. My spidey senses tingling, I peel out and drive away.]

The moral of this story? Even if you drive a dented, rusting 1999 Corolla with missing hubcaps, you’re still a juicy target for a would-be carjacker in broad daylight in Washington. More to the point, survival in DC requires you to accept that man is inherently evil, at least within the boundaries of this diamond shaped house of horrors. One is hard-pressed to find Good Samaritans here, especially in the world of politics, government and K Street. Even Washington’s non-profits are no exception.

If you’re new to the city or a longtime resident who’s convinced of its awesomeness, I have some famous words for you: “Abandon hope, all ye who enter here.”