Hating on Metro is en vogue of late. Don't believe me? Check here. Or here. Or up-to-the-minute here.
Rather than pour a tall glass of Haterade, I've got a brief story of anti-hate. Last night, we went to meet with our wedding photographer to see our pictures and talk about a wedding album. As we left his place, I thought to myself, "I really should use the bathroom before we leave," but I suppressed the urge for some reason and walked out the door. Before we got to the station, it became apparent that was a bad idea.
A little known fact of some stations is that there are restrooms, however poorly marked. All you have to do is ask a station manager. As I scurried off the train at the Pentagon to find the manager, I saw he was helping a passenger asking about the Pentagon Memorial. As I did a Detrol dance, the woman standing next to him told me she was a Metro employee and nicely asked if I needed any help.
Now, I'm not sure if her answer about why I couldn't use the restroom was true, but since she wasn't on duty and not in uniform, I'm inclined to believe her: No public restrooms at the Pentagon station because of security concerns since 9/11. She could've ignored me since she wasn't at work. She could've been rude because tourons wear on her nerves when she's at work. She could've pretended to not speak English, but that would've only worked if she looked like she spoke another language.
But she was none of those things, and politely squashed my hopes of relief before I got home. For that, I thank her.
Yes, I made it, but just barely.