Refract

Wednesday, January 28, 2004

For some reason, Murphey's Law has a special disdain for me.

I went to Washington, DC to visit a friend this weekend. I only plan on staying from Friday night to Sunday morning, after which I need to get back to school in order to take my final exam. Now, my first intention was to park at the Franconia-Springfield Metro Station and take the Metro on in to the city, but everybody kept on saying, "No, no, it's dangerous at night, go on into the city; free parking on weekends!" Well, okay, free parking? Can't complain about that.

That was my first mistake.

I get into the city around 9:30 in the evening, having made great time on the trip. The Washington Monument and the Capitol Building slide into view and the smile on my face couldn't be bigger. Then the traffic starts to become a bit denser. My smile fades a bit. I'm all the way into the city. Fades a bit more. I realize that I don't have a clue how to get around this city. I am now an old grandmother, hunched over my steering wheel, a look of fierce determination (or constipation, never can tell with those old ladies) stuck on my face. I look at the street sign. J Street. Okay, a few more block. M Street. Looking good. I check my directions once more. Now there's supposed to be a traffic circle up ahead. I've driven around traffic circles in small towns before, never bothered me. I get to this traffic circle: it's the biggest, scariest roadway I've ever seen. Oh, shit. I'm first in line at the stoplight. Fifteen-million cars behind me. Eighty-thousand zipping around the traffic circle just a little bit faster than the space shuttle. Light turns green. I inch forward hesitantly, trying to figure out which road I'm supposed to take out of this monster. Suddenly, eighteen horns scream at me: MOVE! I zip forward, taking up two or three lanes at once, yanking my car wildly around the turns, trying to avoid pedestrians, cars, and street lamps all at once, hoping that maybe, just maybe, there will be a sign for Massachusetts Avenue somewhere. After my fourteenth time around, I don't have a clue where I am, so I just get off at the nearest street, running a stoplight and killing a small boy with a balloon in the process. I'm back on 14th Street somehow, but now I have to get myself turned around. U-turn? Not on your life. And a left turn across this highway? I don't want to, but it's my only choice. I finally figure out, without killing people, how to get myself turned around, and I'm back on 14th going south. I get to that monster of a traffic circle again. This time, I'm not taking any chances; I get the hell out of there as quickly as I can. I don't have a clue what street I'm on, just this vague notion that I need to get myself a little further west and then head north again. After cutting off everybody in sight, almost killing a policeman, and breaking every traffic law in the city, I manage to find Massachusetts Avenue. Now, about this free curbside parking on weekends...

There are no parking spots.

So I go around the block. And then again. A little wider this time. By now, it's at least 10:30. I call my friend. "Yeah, uh, it's gonna be a while." I go out yet another block. Still not a single space available anywhere; if I go out any further, I'm never going to find my way back, or, worse, I'll find my way into another Traffic Circle of Doom. I finally decide to pull into the driveway of my friend's apartment building and let her join me on my adventure. She gets in the car, and off we zoom. "I think I saw a parking garage, uh, down, er, that street one day. Maybe. I think." Right. So we go, well, down that street.

Nothing. Another block. Nothing still. Then the road ends. But lo! What is this on the corner? PMI? Parking? We are saved! I pull into the lot and park my car. "How much to leave my car here for a couple days?"

"Seven dollar a day. And you come back tomorrow and give me seven more dollar."

So much for free parking.

Well, at least I'm in the city now, right? Coulda been worse, I could've killed two little boys with balloons. And it only took an hour to find a parking place, could've taken a week.


Now, I'm thinking to myself, if this is just the first night, what does the rest of the weekend have in store for me?

I should've left right then and there.

The next night we go to Nooshi, an Asian noodle restaurant. I order something I can't pronounce, with squid and conch and shrimp and noodles and all sorts of delicious vegetables in a tasty broth. But it didn't come with a spoon. Our waiter's nowhere in sight, and I figure that there has to be a reason that I wasn't given a spoon, so I start to eat my soup with a fork. The waiter comes back midway through the meal to make sure we're okay. By this time, I'm enjoying the food so much, I forget that I'm eating it with a fork, and just let it be. But he looks down at the soup, then at my fork, then at me, a puzzled and bemused expression slowly forming on his face. He walks away for a minute. When he returns, he's once again straight-faced, but with a hint of amusement when he looks at me. I finish my food, set my fork down, and sit back in my chair, satisfied after a delicious, filling meal. Then I notice something black nestled comfortably between the bowl and the plate.

A spoon.

I. Am. So. Smooth.


After dinner we go back to her apartment for a little while before we're going to head out to a local jazz club (HR-57 for those in the DC area). I'm playing around on her computer, checking everybody's away messages like I always do when I notice one that's a bit peculiar.

"My roommate went home to get away from the ice storm, so I'm just sitting here alone."

Ice storm? What Ice Storm?

www.wunderground.com

Washington, DC

Sunday: Winter Weather Advisory, 4-8 inches of snow, with freezing rain later in the evening.

Holy. Living. Fuck.

And there it is, a giant winter storm, stretching from eastern Alabama to western Texas, ready to dump icy hell down on my entire route home.

Now, as I see it, I have three options. First, I can leave right after the jazz club, two, I can hightail it out of there first thing in the morning and hope I can make it back before the storm hits, or three, I can wait until Monday and hope the weather's better.

But see, there's a complication, I have work and class on Monday and a final on Tuesday. I absolutely must get out of that city. To make matters worse, I had only brought enough money for two days in the city and a minor emergency getting back; I couldn't afford another extra day. I email my professor and supervisor and just cross my fingers.

But fuck it, I'm not letting this weather get in the way of music, we're going to the club no matter what. I get there and I'm just freaking out; I have no idea how I'm going to get out of this city in time. People at other tables start staring more at me, this crazy vibrating kid in the corner, than at the musicians. Oh, yeah, I'm smooth. I decide, what the hell, I'm not throwing away the weekend just because of a little exam that's worth 36% of my grade and can cost me my scholarships: that's irrelevant.

So I do the smart thing, and decide to wait for the weather to snow me in so much that I can't even pretend to think about getting home.

Sunday rolls around. Bitterly cold outside, but no precipitation. Just a little snow so far in North Carolina, but nothing to be overly concerned about yet.

We decide to go downtown to the Art Museum of the Americas, a supposedly good museum. One tiny little building, the garden house of a mansion, with just one artist. Well, that was a fun, uh, 15 minutes. We try and figure something else out. One of us remembers that we saw a sign for the National Aquarium somewhere around 14th street, so back we go, circling around the White House, looking for signs. Nothing at all. We walk all the way back down to the National Mall. Still no signs. Now, of course, by this time, having only a coat that won't button up, no gloves, and no hat, I'm pretty much a less-than-tasty popsicle. I'm not so sure that my nose and ears are still there and I can't talk too well since my face is completely numb. So there I am, walking down the middle of washington, face red, eyes watering, talking like I have down syndrome; disabilities activists start offering to take me to a shelter.

Finally we see a sign for the aquarium. Then we see another sign. Ping-ponging back and forth between them, the only building that they're pointing to is the Department of Commerce building, and who keeps aquariums in the Department of Commerce? We give up and head back to her apartment. Looking it up online, we find out: Americans keep aquariums in the Department of Commerce. Oh. Once again, smooooooth.

All day long, it's just been cold and windy, no precipitation to speak of, we're both optimistic that it's going to just pass us by. We settle down and watch a movie about whales, like everyone does in the cold, and start warming up. Then we look outside. It's snowing, a thin white blanket covering everything. An hour later, there's an inch on the ground. Two hours later, three inches, and it's not letting up. I. Am. Screwed.


Monday morning comes. We wake up at 6:40 and flick on the TV. Roads throughout the city and northern Virginia are covered in snow and ice and are horribly treacherous to drive on. City governments are closed. Schools are closed. Businesses are closed. The city is shutting down. And I, in my 300-pound, half-wheel drive Saturn have to drive three-hundred miles to get home. Yeah, that's gonna work out reaaaal well.

I check my eMail, I can miss class and work. Thank goodness. But my friend has to go to work. So here I am, 9:00 in the morning, a day before my final exam, alone in the city with about $15. I do what anybody else would do in this situation: I call my mommy. She does a quick search and finds an Amtrak train leaving at 10:50 that I can get a ticket for if I can get to Union Station in an hour. Now, normally, that shouldn't be a problem. But one must remember, I have no idea if my car will start, if my car is even there, if I will be able to get it out of the parking lot, if I can drive on the roads, if I can navigate around the city, or even where the hell the goddamn station is. So I tell her "yeah, I can definitely do that." Obvious answer.

I find my car, it's still there. "Hey, I'm gonna try and get out of here today, do I owe you anything?" "You gonna drive in dis? You crazy, man! But yeah, you owe me twelve dolla'" "Uh, it's only 9. You've been open an hour. Nine dollars?" "Uhhhhhh... Okay, nine dolla'"

I scrape enough snow off my door to get it open, and get out my ice scraper. Fifteen minutes later, I can see out my windows, with just a few blind spots here and there. But I can't feel my fingers. At all. I spend 5 minutes just trying to make my fingers work well enough to manipulate the keys. Finally, I succeed, and my car starts. Fabulous. I throw the car into reverse and slowly press the gas pedal. Vrrrrrrrrrrmm... A man walking by is now coated in snow, and I'm still sitting in the parking space. Ooops. I try again. VrrrrrrRRRRRRMMM!!! I rocket back out of the space. But now my winshield is once again covered in snow. Ten minutes later, it's cleared. I pull out of the lot, and start working my way down to Union Station. Miraculously, this time the signs actually led somewhere, and I am able to get my car parked and myself into the station at around 10:00. I'm on the phone with my mother who is buying my ticket for me online, but my phone battery is dying and I can barely hear her. She's trying to read me my reservation number out loud, and I'm kneeling down on the floor, writing on the back of a reciept supported by an Altoids can, just hoping I'm hearing the right numbers. BEEP BEEP BEEP! Phone cuts off. Well, nothing for it but to hope I got the right number. It's my turn. "Yeah, I ordered my ticket online, and all I have is the ticket number." "You have yo' ticke' numbah? How you got yo' ticke' numbah awready?" "Uh, I don't know, I just do." "Welllllll. Jus' gib it to me." I read it out. "Shoot, das yo' resahvation numbah!" Riiight.

I'm sitting at Gate H waiting for my 10:50 train. "Attention all passengers. Train 79 leaving from Gate H is now delayed approximately 20 minutes." Oh, well, 20 minutes won't kill me.

No, 20 minutes wouldn't kill me. But 6 hours just might.

The train arrives, and it's time for general boarding. I start to climb on board the train. "Where you goin'?" asks a surly woman with 3-foot-long fingernails. Now, I've never been on a train before, I don't know what she's asking me. "Uh, Coach I guess." "Omigawd! Nooooo! Where is you GOING? What is yo' DestiNATION?" "Oh. Uh, Greensboro." "Get back dere and siddown." And yet again: smooooooth.

All the seats are taken on the train. I feel like Forrest Gump. "Seat's taken." "Seat's taken." "Seat's taken." Finally, I pre-empt someone. "Is this seat taken?" She glares at me disdainfully. Looks me up and down. Snarls. "I guess not." I sit down slowly, not quite sure if she's gonna stab me in the heart or burn me with her eyes.

Forty minutes late, the train pulls out of Union Station, leaving my car--in a $15/day lot--behind.

We get to Alexandria. All is well. We get to Quantico. Couldn't be better. Fredericksburg. My seatmate gets off, things are looking up. Then, halfway to Richmond, we stop. To the left: snow. To the right: snow. Station anywhere? No.

Fifteen minutes pass. Thirty. A baby starts screaming. An hour. "Uh, yeah, we're having some switch problems up ahead, seems they've frozen, we're having to get out and throw them manually." Great, just great. We start moving again. A collective sigh of gratitude. 100 yards later, we stop. "We're getting a mechanic out here to fix the rails, we'll be moving shortly." Another hour goes by. Three hours late, we eventually arrive in Richmond, which is also a designated smoke break. Several people get off, others get on, many of them taking the seats of the people who got off to smoke. One of them, a very big, very smelly man, ends up sitting next to me since his seat was taken. Fuuuunnn...

But we're moving again, and I can't complain about that, even if the baby is screaming louder than the train whistle. We hit Rocky Mount, our first stop in North Carolina. Getting close! We pull out of the station and into the railyard, and again, we stop. This time, no explaination. I haven't eaten all day. I am starved. But I'm also broke, having just paid $30 for parking when I had intended to pay nothing. An hour goes by; we're about four hours late at this point. Another hour goes by. We move again, finally, and arrive in Raleigh. Then Cary. Then Durham. Then Burlington. I call my parents, "we just passed Burlington, we're moving again, I'll be there in twenty minutes." We zip right past my university, my dorm being literally 200 feet away from me. I was very tempted to pull a James Bond and fling myself from the train (tucking and rolling, of course), but I restrain myself. That will prove to be a mistake.

Three minutes outside of Greensboro we stop again. Thirty minutes pass. Another hour. "We're kinda letting some trains go by, we're sitting here on a siding. We'll be in Greensboro in about five minutes. Once we start moving again that is." Not they they have a clue when that will be. Another thirty minutes. We start moving again, zipping along at a healthy pace, then, just past an overpass, we stop once more. And this time, the lights go out. So here we are, alone in this pitch black railway car with a screaming baby, one minute away from the station, with no clue what's going on. My dad's been waiting for almost an hour at this point. A half hour later, we move again, and successfully pull into the station. I get off the train, my legs wobbly from having been squished next to big, smelly, hateful people for over twelve hours and having not eaten in over a day.

Oh, well, it could have been worse.



Now, mind you, this ordeal isn't over yet. I still have to take the train back up to DC and retrieve my car, paying $15 for each day it's there, bringing this weekend which should have taken a day and a half and thirty dollars to almost a week and nearly $200. Murphey hates me.


(Truth be told, it was a fabulous weekend, and we had a ton of fun despite all of the hassles of the weather. If I had to do it again, I definitely would, even if only for the story :-))