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.”


  1. All Hail HRH King Firday XIII. Off with Rusty's head!

  2. hrh. you really pulled over? where are you from? i'm from the midwest AND i'm a girl (therefore i know nothing about cars), and i still wouldn't have pulled ova.

  3. Nice way to start off your tenure.

    YDGJNOK (you do good job now ok?)

  4. In Outback Australia that stunt gets you killed and your girlfriend nearly raped.

    Fair dinkum.

  5. I actually have a major hard-on for Rusty and can't wait for him to get back. Writing then reading your own blog sucks.

  6. AnonymousMay 01, 2007

    yeah....it was a hard lesson for me, too, but: no one in D.C. is kind, and nothing in D.C. comes without a price.

    - Lae

    P.S. except once when this guy I worked with helped me put my new tags on my car and requested no compensation, not even my number...*tear*...beautiful day

  7. He's a boy...boys live in less fear and are more trusting then girls have to be.

    Then again..I lived in New Orleans...there you have to look like you are packing heat or that you will run them over in order to not get car-jacked.

    I'm thinking when I leave this town and get a car, I am going to buy a huge NRA sticker for my windshield.

  8. No, I'm stupid. I have no excuse for putting myself in that situation.

  9. AnonymousMay 01, 2007

    Dear Nichole,

    Perhaps I could drive my manual car over to Stupidville, Indiana (your hometown, I assume) and change your tire/check your brakeline fluid/replace your fuses/etc., and explain to you that the midwest is cinched by the fucking rust belt, and that women should/often do know the basics of taking care of their cars.

    The fact that we wouldn't pull over for some sketchy dude's help means that we have to woman up and deal with car trouble on our own.

    I mean, seriously.

    - Girl from the midwest

    p.s. On an unrelated note, I want you to know I read your name as "Nick Hole."

  10. Ha, this happened to me a couple years ago in NoVA, near Springfield even. Supposedly my muffler was falling off as from a middle-aged guy driving a crappy mini-van and I was in my crappy 96 Sunbird. Guess they figure guys in crappy cars are more likely to believe their cars are falling apart, although I doubt he was after my car and hoping I had something in my pockets. I of course didn't stop, but did drive the rest of the way to Ashland thinking my car was falling apart the whole drive.

  11. AnonymousMay 07, 2007

    My coffe burned my toungue this morning. Fucking DC.