I never fashioned myself to be one of those people that goes to their college reunion. Nevertheless, a friend of mine had mentioned she was going. I had the days off, Nicole was working nearby in Richmond, and it seemed to be a reasonable enough thing to do. I went straight from my Austin trip to Orlando. I understand this is not the most direct way of getting to Washington, DC, but it was the only way that could guarantee me a seat in the back. I grow tired of sitting in the jumpseat, particularly after doing many flights at odd hours of night.
I got on a JetBlue flight from Orlando to DCA the following day. It would be about a day and a half before I would actually see Nicole, so I did a lot of wandering around the city. For the most part, I was able to navigate my way around, but a lot of my favorite places to eat were now gone. Anyway, various college reunion-related activities took place on my first full day in town, and my first event was at the building of International Affairs. It had been over a decade since I've lived on the east coast, and I never truly fit in when I did live there. As a starry-eyed 18-year old boy, I had grand visions of working in diplomacy or intelligence, being sent to exotic locales, using my language skills to infiltrate our enemies, and saving America in time for dessert. Many of the folks that went to my school, and perhaps shared these visions were so unpleasant that it sent me running west. I am in a much better fit right now in virtually all ways. California is more relaxed, calm, patient, and more accepting.
I had assumed (incorrectly) that this reunion event was a sort of casual affair and I showed up in jeans, a t-shirt that said, "Go Sports!," and a pair of Vans. Some of the other folks (pictured here) had differing ideas on the dress code. Many had their congressional badges prominently showing. This is something that drove me absolutely crazy when I went to school here. People would show up to class with their lanyards from their internship on the hill or the state department and act like they didn't have time to remove them before showing up to class. I mean I could just as easily shown up in a pilot uniform, but that wouldn't even seem right at an Embry-Riddle reunion.
Anyway, I got to showcase this culture to Nicole for a little while. We visited a friend who now owns a restaurant near Metro Center and everyone around us was basically wearing tuxedos. I think it's better to actually be somebody than to look like you're somebody, but that's the California in me. As its last act of defiance, the district tried to make our commute to Dulles airport as inefficient as possible. The Marine Corps Marathon was still going on, and despite having began at probably 7am, people were still finishing at . . . 2. Thus, the streets where we would normally have caught the bus to Dulles were blocked and the cops blocking the streets had no idea where the bus was now picking people up. It was only by me spotting it drive by from a distance that we figured it out. And no thanks to the cops, we were not allowed to cross the street in front of non-existent traffic to catch said bus . . . and it only runs once an hour. To make matters worse, I was feeling increasingly ill. I felt fatigued, congested, and by the time I got off the plane in San Francisco I was running a fever. Clearly, D.C. makes me feel ill. As one bit of silver lining, I preemptively went online to my flight schedule and just checked to see if I could drop my next redeye. For the first time in my flying career, the flight disappeared from my schedule instantly. I was shocked. And to be perfectly frank, relieved.
I never fashioned myself to be one of those people that goes to their college reunion. Nevertheless, a friend of mine had mentioned she was going. I had the days off, Nicole was working nearby in Richmond, and it seemed to be a reasonable enough thing to do. I went straight from my Austin trip to Orlando. I understand this is not the most direct way of getting to Washington, DC, but it was the only way that could guarantee me a seat in the back. I grow tired of sitting in the jumpseat, particularly after doing many flights at odd hours of night.
