#033 - Washington - pt. 1

5.16.24

I'm sitting here drinking an English breakfast tea because my obsession with nitrogen-enriched cold brew coffee is causing unforeseen health effects. This week has been an amazing adventure as my life tends to lead. First, staying at a luxury resort makes a journey in a box truck worth it. As a bonus, the dude I'm traveling with, and I had some time to waste, so we decided to go on a side quest on our way to the main destination. I jokingly said we should find a tourist trap or roadside attraction like the "world's biggest ball of yarn." Instead, since I'm a connoisseur of public transit, I surprised him with a trip on one of my favorites: Washington D.C.'s metro.

The adventure starts with a trip to Google Maps to scope some satellite views of parking lots because the challenge of this trip is our vehicle, which happens to be a 16' box truck. Commuter rail stations aren't built for big vehicles, let alone somewhat commercial ones. The first station was a bust with big signs that said no trucks or oversized vehicles, so we pulled next to some government buildings to "marshal" our truck to devise an alternative plan. After feverishly searching through maps and looking at the street views, we found a parking lot that looked like we might be able to pull off the parking job of the century, at least to me, because I'm driving.

We pulled it off, though, and after some finagling with some backing in, we had successfully and surprisingly managed to fit the truck in a slightly oversized parking space. Side note: I do not recommend doing this. As I'm paying for the parking and looking around to see if there are any attendants or Metro Police around to ask about the legality, I have a thought. You know, after thirty-six years, sometimes you have to wing it. Throw caution into the wind. I am rationalizing it because we were in a parking spot and paid the fee, too!

We followed the rules here, and when you follow the rules, people respect that. People will give you space and privilege when you respect the authority of the structures and places around you. When others see that you may be disrespectful, the opposite is true, and authority will oftentimes "clamp down" or tighten their control of the situation. That's another one of life's balancing acts, and I have a whole essay about rules and what they mean to me. So, back to the adventure.

The WMATA Green Line has multiple examples of brutalist architecture that is as stunningly beautiful as plain and brutal. The metro stations' coffered ceilings leap from the sides of the tracks to create underground concrete caves, which are lit so majestically that every train makes a statement when entering and exiting. It is impressive, American, and Federal, and I love it. As we watch the scenery change from arboreal to calcified, I explain the different station styles to my wingman, Aaron, and give him some basic public transit rules.

Growing up in Atlanta, one of my favorite things was riding MARTA, Atlanta's version of D.C.'s Metro. My mom and aunt would take me on rides from one end of the line to the other, and five-year-old me would announce the station names as we approached. The worst day of my childhood was leaving one of my belongings on the train. When I went to Georgia State, I would take the train daily to school even though I had a parking pass and could park on campus. I'm a pro at riding the train and navigating the complex network of connections, escalators, and tunnels. And it's his first time on public transit.

We have a blast. First, we transferred to my favorite station, L'Enfant Plaza. Then, popping up from underground at the National Mall, we decided to stroll to the Smithsonian Castle and the Spy Museum. Aaron researched some food places and found a BBQ off the Green Line. Fifteen minutes later, we were back on the train and in Mt. Vernon Square, eating some life-changing BBQ. The truck was still in my mind, so I decided we had fun and needed not to press our luck with parking.

Soon, we returned to our parking space to find our truck exactly as we left it undisturbed, with about thirty minutes left on the meter. Luck was on our side, and it ended up being a really enjoyable side quest from my main work trip. So maybe stop and smell the roses? Especially when your truck has a max speed limit of sixty-five.

Maybe tomorrow?