I woke up again in D.C.
It was the least funny prank I've ever experienced, and somehow also the most cruel. Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse I ended up back at school for eleven hours where I was lucky enough to remember I had a French quiz I didn't study for.
After that I had the good fortune of picking my parents up at the airport, and this is where my great April Fool's Day adventure begins.
There are two airports in and around the D.C. area. One is National Airport, the other is Dulles. For those of you who don't know, Dulles International is easily one of the worst places in the world. It's huge, inconvenient, and far away. So when I heard my parents were arriving back into town through National I took it as a blessing. After sweeping up all the burnt remains of my crazy party weekend underneath the rugs of the house, I hopped in the car and headed downtown to pick them up.
The geography of D.C. is an interesting one. National Airport is conveniently located across the Potomac River, which separates the Rosslyn section of Arlington from that of Georgetown. There are a number of bridges that cross it, however the most prominent and useful is the Francis Scott Key Bridge.
It's also the only bridge in D.C. I can name, and the only one I know for certain can get me to the airport.
So when I drove up to the Key Bridge at eleven o'clock last night and saw a bunch of trucks like this blocking my path:
With people who I assume were doing this:
I thought, "Great. My parents are stuck at the airport and now the city is under attack by freaking zombies."
So I had to turn off onto an onramp that lead me into the heart of the city. Thinking maybe there was a second turn off for the bridge, I double backed the other way through Georgetown and found that the other side was also closed off by more Hazmat trucks and police cars.
Basically at that point I had no idea what I was going to do. So after calling my brother Nick, I followed the river past the Kennedy center and managed to get across the Potomac by way of West 66 which lead me to the other side of the Key bridge. My next problem was finding my way to the airport from there. Luckily for me, there was a nice little sign with an airplane on it to direct me. Unfortunately for me, that sign was right after the exit I missed and I ended up taking the 66 East back across the river into the heart of D.C. again.
D.C. manages to be a physical representation of all douche-bagginess this world has to offer. It's a knot of frustration constructed by a historical lineage of douche-bags determined to make existence worse for anyone in it. An example of this would be how someone out there thought it would be a good idea to place all the exit signs in the city AFTER the exits instead of a little bit before it. It's like a nice little joke.
"Oh you THOUGHT this was the right way, but guess where this road is taking you now?! IN THE OPPOSITE DIRECTION! Isn't that hilarious?! What's that? You wanted the airport? Well I think you should see the Lincoln Memorial instead! Nope, you can't turn around now, 'cause there's no U-turns for another three miles!"
Eff you D.C.
So yeah, I got to see the memorials, the cemetary, and eventually the airport where I was given the pleasure of welcoming my parents back to this god-forsaken wasteland. I was tempted. I considered walking out of that car, into that terminal and booking a flight home to sweet sweet California. But I couldn't. Just a little over a month left, I can take it.
And the reason for all this trouble?
Yeah. A bucket. A bucket with nothing in it. Or a pail. They don't even know which one it was.
But I know someone who does.