This week has been hellatious. It has been full of work that scoffs at my desire to enjoy summer days to the fullest. I honestly can’t complain because, despite all this work, I’ve had an INCREDIBLE time. Getting closer to the start of school makes me a lot more selfish about how I spend my days and the lack of choice right now is blowin’ me. It’s been blowin’ us all—my classmates, that is. For the 2nd to last day of this program I’m in, we were given the rights to a social. While I was away plugging away on a project that I can now put in the “know better than” column, one of my classmates suggested the American History museum and none of my other classmates countered with any other brilliant ideas. My idea to go kayaking (I just can’t get enough) was vetoed by one of our facilitators, claiming we don’t want to see her in a boat. When a duck tells you it doesn’t like water…
So, via text message from my girl Minnie (short for Minneapolis), I discovered that I was required to get out of bed on a day I’d really rather not to go do something I’d really rather not do. The word “American” in the name American History museum bores me. But the history buff in our crew, and the only one of us who actually fits the bill for what an American might look like, got the jump on our mandatory fun, so I got widdit. Yesterday I woke up refreshed from a 12 hour rest following my 17 hour dedication to formatting an anthology (DON’T DO IT!!), which came on the heels of 2 other all nighters pulled for this program. I was the opposite of enthusiasm.
Anywho…I decided not to add a headache to my backache and inflamed knees (damned arthritis) and catch the Metro to the museum. Parking is as elusive as platform 33 1/3 in the Harry Potter series. Since my magic wand is in the shop I figured it wasn’t worth the risk. Plus, rubbing elbows with the “common folk” sounded like a field trip in itself. I caught the bus to the subway station and got off with the very tame passengers who I sent my deepest, heartfelt telepathic gratitude for not wildin’ out during my trip. I got off the bus safely, thanked my driver and strolled casually, enjoying my iPod and the beautiful yet hot
A bare bones young man, NBA tall, sashayed past me wearing a dingy plunging neckline and the skinniest of the skinny jeans. I only took notice because he looked so… Anyway, he gets past me, spins on a tranny model’s dime and in his most high pitched Flamethrower McQueen voice yells toward me:
FM: YOU DON’T REMEMBER ME?
ME: No, should I?
FM: (fast paced & even higher pitched) …from Anacostia metro? Used to be up ‘round there all the time.
I didn’t bother to tell Mrs. McQueen that I’ve only been to that metro twice in my life. And when I went, I MADE SURE NOT TO rub elbows with the “common folk.” Cat calls of “hey light skin” and watching girls watching other girls like they were waiting for the jump had me on high alert. I had found myself in that world trying to be time efficient. I decided after the second field trip that it was worth it to waste 30 minutes going in another direction. The SUNDAY news report of shooting on the bus that I rode to get there solidified my hell naw for going there again. After all, who are you mad enough to shoot at on a Sunday? But I’m getting away from the story.
FM realized I really didn’t know him or that his intentional falsehood wasn’t working and got to the damn point. And remember the point is said reeeeeeaaalllly fast:
I felt bad for him, but I didn’t have any cash on me that wasn’t dedicated to paying for the printing of my 17 hour project. I told him so and proceeded to walk away. I must have turned on a model’s dime too because McQueen yelled
“YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS….YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS, Honey,” as I walked away. Stamp of approval?
The city writes itself.
& the heat goes on.
Watch me move.
Post Script: the powers of editing are beyond me at this point. Forgive me.