The Pointy Place

I've been sick for more than a week now and Thursday I finally gave in, admitted so, and left work early. On the metro home, in to D.C., I sat behind a tourist family. There are three categories of metro tourists:

1. The unbelievably-obnoxious family in their souvenir shits from their last vacation that talk loudly, step on your toes, stand on the left side of the escalator, and try to pry the doors open. They mispronounce all the metro stops and will almost always realize at the last minute their stop is currently being served and make a mad dash to make it.
2. The quiet, shell-shocked ones that are too afraid of the city and its denizens to do or say anything. They clutch their bags and their maps to their chests and breathe a sigh of relief when they make it to the Smithsonian stop. They will also be the ones staring in confusion when the turnstile won't let them through because they are trying to enter through an exit lane.
   
3. The easy-going ones that make fun of themselves for not knowing which stop they need, try desperately to stay out of the way of commuters, and ask the pros about their Smart Trip cards. They are talkative, but usually amusingly instead of annoyingly so.

On Thursday, thankfully, I was behind the third kind. And they were children, which rarely fall into the third category. One little boy, of between 5-8, was especially talkative and said a few gems that I just had to record.

Upon seeing the Washington Monument as we pulled into the airport stop:
"There's the pointy place! There's the pointy place!"

To one of his travelling companions:
"You definitely have to see Lincoln. He's huge. He's super huge."

As we pulled into the Crystal City stop:
"I love the underground tunnels. They're my favorite, they're the best."

I was in a crummy mood and these brightened my day just a bit.