everyone rides the metro. western suburbs, all the white kids ride it into the city to party like a rock star. eastern suburbs, it's the only way some people get around. i got to ride the orange line all the way through the city this weekend. what a demographic shift as you go from west to east and back again. cases in point:
1) friday night, short trek for me to georgetown to some high-fallutin' riverfront bar/restaurant. white kid. white boy 'fro. khakis. pink lacoste shirt, popped collar. boat shoes. in his whitest, loudest voice, he's telling about some night where he was presumably out of his element, talking about the music they were playing, "so, i'm the only one in there that knew all the words. i mean, they're playing eminem, c'mon!" no one else apparently knew the words, but he added, "if it would've been fifty cent (yes, he annunciated every phoneme, quite unlike curtis jackson and the rest of g-unit), they would've been like, 'in da club....'" at this point, everyone around me is laughing at him under our breath. the guy behind me is muttering under his breath all kinds of insults about how utterly oblivious he was to the people that were around him.
2) my first experience with a positively insane metro rider. saturday, after the debacle of a football game, i'm back on the orange line headed west. car's pretty much empty. this guy stumbles on, sits down, and immediately starts babbling incoherently. after about 5 minutes, he starts trying to get everyone else's attention in our car. at this point, that consisted of a black couple many rows from him and me, seated across the aisle from him. when i realize he's talking to me, i turn. he proceeds to tell me that president bush was killed by the space shuttle. "really? i hadn't heard that." through the rest of his babbling, i figure out that he wanted directions because he doesn't live in the city (why do people always ask me for directions? that's fodder for another blog though). i only understood about every fifth word he uttered in his drunken cajun-english slurring. when he got off at l'enfant plaza, i figured out why. drunk as a skunk. i wonder if he made it.
city life is never dull.