The best part of today was when it came to a swift end, thanks to DC’s much-maligned public transportation system.
Mondays are pretty much universally the worst day of the week, amirite? There are usually very few good things to say about my Mondays, especially lately.
I’m chipping away, one class at a time, at a master’s degree in communication. Area of concentration: digital. Digital classes offered this semester: one…on Monday evenings from 7:35-9:50. Time I get home on Monday nights: on average, approximately 10:45.
But tonight was supposed to be different. My professor was participating in a university-sponsored roundtable discussion on mobile communication, anticipated to run from 6:30-8. Attendance was required in lieu of a regular class session; our last hour of class time would be dedicated to work on a rather grueling group project, and we’d be mercifully released early.
Somehow, it didn’t work out that way. That bonus 8-9pm hour turned into a meandering class discussion, and groups didn’t get together until 9. My group managed to wrap it up by 10ish…which is basically the same time we’re usually released from class.
I walk outside, ready to finally get my ass home…and it’s pouring. Naturally, I don’t have an umbrella. Awesome. I call my beloved C., hoping he’s still up/willing to come get me. No answer. As usual, it’s a walking-and-Metro night. PARTY.
I decide to deviate from my usual Dupont-to-Foggy-Bottom route, and head toward Farragut West, a station I’ve only walked to once (and with the guidance of someone who actually knew where she was going), and is apparently far closer to Dupont. Why have I been doing this Foggy Bottom walk for the past year? I manage to get there without incident, minus the whole being-drenched-and-rained-on thing, and dash down the slippery escalator as quickly as my treadless Converse will take me without falling and sustaining a serious injury to my coccyx.
The pivotal moment: when’s the next train to Vienna?
The Metro gods smiled favorably upon me: two gloriously brief minutes.
“Two minutes” is exactly what any Metro rider wants to see at the bottom of the street-to-mezzanine escalator. It’s enough time to stroll down to the platform and get into boarding position without having to sprint (or without having to wait a lifetime for a train to show up). If you’re extremely lucky (and paying with cash), it may even be enough time to put money on your SmartTrip. I am rarely that lucky, and thankfully didn’t have to gamble my good fortune on a trip to the fare machine.
Anyway, so that was it. Made the train with no problem, had an uneventful ride home and took another walk in the rain. But I got home at 10:35!
Thanks, Metro– your two-minute wait was the best part of my day. It’ll probably never happen again– the two-minute wait or you being the best part of my day.
