When I first moved up to DC, I was in a meeting at work with several members of our leadership. We were talking about a gentleman who needed to fly up from Florida and visit the museum gallery.
Ok. No problem.
Granted, this was one of my first “big boy” meetings with all of the members of leadership at my new job, and I wanted to give a good impression to all of them. It’s hard to impress people who you feel are already impressive. It’s the same tingling sensation you get when you meet a girl you really like -that nervousness that never leaves. They could have asked me anything and I would have given them the same reaction at that point:
Anyways, back to the story.
We were talking about this guy coming up to DC, and one of our leadership said that he would be “glad to pick him up at National.” As much as I wanted to resist asking, I had no idea what he was talking about. Keep in mind, this was really the first time I had spoken to any of them since my initial welcome back in November. I just said it. Like Ralphie in A Christmas Story, it just came out:
To this day, I can’t tell you why I said it. Curiosity perhaps. For damn sure, I knew as the words came out of my mouth that it was a mistake. Little did I know it would be a nice “Welcome to DC” moment for me.
“What,” he said in a tone of bewilderment. “National is what you might call Reagan National today.”
The look on his face can only be described in one word:
“Oh, Okay. Cool. Thanks.” I didn’t know what else to say.
oh.
OH.
OHHH.
Damnit. Really? Seriously. I wanted to absorb into the seat. Welcome to DC, indeed…dumbass. Oh well. They like me now (I think).
Why was this such an issue? In the words of Patrick Bateman, I wanted to fit in. I really want to be that guy that knows his way around the area because I really do love it here. I realized back then that I was far away. I won’t tell you what I really wanted to do.
I asked a friend of mine who has lived here for several years if I was overreacting. She had some pretty candid remarks.
“Oh, did you really? Yeah, they definitely know you are new to the area. Don’t let it get you down.”
I could almost feel her do that sympathetic tap on the shoulder through the internet. Damnit. I began to think that, yes, I was new to the area. I get a free pass, right? I felt a bit better when she said she had a similar experience when first moving to the district six years ago. These things take time. This was how I came to know one of the ways that beltway locals throw shade. There are others. Metro Shade. Smithsonian Shade. Traffic Shade. I will get to those later.
Apparently this is not just a ME issue. I went to look for more answers. TO THE INTERNET!
…and one troll.
National. DCA. Get on the planes. Got it. Looking back, it wasn’t such a big deal. Maybe I will just call it Reagan National. I can say it however I want, though Robot Nixon National Airport has a better ring to it. You can call it whatever you want, too. If anybody else tells you different, take it from the Gipper himself.
ONE MONTH LATER.
About a month after that unfortunate (yet somehow inevitable) incident, I was traveling from the Navy Yard to Farragut West. Somebody there asked me if I knew the best way to get to the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum.
“Oh, well. You have to take the Green line here towards Greenbelt to L’Enfant. Then you can go down one level and hop on the Orange towards Vienna and get off at the Smithsonian stop. Although, you might as well get off at L’Enfant. It’s a shorter walk to Air and Space.”
The gentleman thanked me and walked away. If I wasn’t in public, I would have had to take a cold shower or done a Middle School gym tuck to hide my excitement. It wasn’t shade, it was being helpful. Felt good. Maybe I am getting used to this place. Slow and steady.
Maybe one day, I can throw shade in a similar way. A guy can dream. It’s hot out there right now. I am okay with a little shade every once in a while.
Delusional Thoughts From Fantasy Island 