Overheard in DC: Capes and Spies. Oh my!

Last night I went to the Kennedy Center to see the musical "Memphis." (It was only ok.) While out and about, I overheard a few bits of conversations that had to be shared.

On the shuttle to the metro:
"I think I saw a person in a cape today. It looked like a batman cape. I was thinking, 'It's 9:30 in the morning on a Tuesday. Why are you in a cape?'"

This made me smile given my own recent caped outing. I really wanted to tap her on the shoulder and ask if it was the timing of the cape she objected to, or just the cape itself.

On the metro, a presumably not-quite-there woman talking out loud:  
"You don't want to go there. The cat is not black."

I thought this was just amazing. The cat is clearly code for something, but what? Is it good that it's not black, or bad? Is she using it as a synonym for kosher or something similar? I must know!

But, seeing as this is D.C., and I've seen too many episodes of "Alias," I've decided she's not actually a crazy metro lady, but is a spy. Maybe she was delivering a message to her handler, who was elsewhere in the car.

So, yeah, basically I've intercepted a coded spy message. Don't be too jealous.

Who does that?

Due to that don't-know-how-to-drive thing, I spend a lot of time on public transportation. With all kinds of people. The vast majority are normal people just trying to get from Point A to Point B. Then there are the Other People. The clip their nails on the metro kind. (Seen three times.) The pick their nose on the bus kind. (Seen so many times.) The stare at you so long you get off a stop early to get away from them kind. (Happened once.) And now I can add the give you back your hair kind.

This morning, on the bus from the metro to my office, I had a seat to myself, earbuds in, staring out the window. There was a 20ish woman behind me eating an apple--which is such a gross thing to do on the bus--and then a 20ish man in a suit sat beside her. About two blocks from my stop, I hear him start to talk to her. Now, it's a well-known rule that you don't talk to strangers on the bus, so naturally I had to listen to see what was going on. This is how the conversation went:

Man: I think this is yours.
Woman: What?
Man: Here, I think this is yours.
Woman: That hair? That's not mine.
My Inner Monologue: No way, he did not just try to give her back a piece of her hair! What!?
Woman: That's longer and darker than mine. I think it's hers.
Man: Ok.
MIM: What in the hell is happening?!

Then the man reaches his hand around to the seat beside me and DROPS A PIECE OF HAIR ON IT. Without saying anything. I glance up in shock/disdain as he sits back and the woman laughs a little. (I was too angry at this point to determine if it was a "don't upset the crazy man" laugh or a genuine "hilarious, he gave her back her hair" laugh.)

So yes, I lost a piece of hair on the bus this morning and the man behind me felt the need to return it, not exactly to me, but to the seat beside me. Who does that? I wasn't flipping it around. I didn't yank a piece out and throw it at him. I didn't stand over him brushing it. If you ride public transportation you're going to have to get used to seeing way worse things than a lone strand of hair.

Filled with such incredulity that I couldn't breathe or speak, I practically ran from the bus as anger consumed me. But was I over-reacting? Considering what I've written about my hair in the past, the fact that I'm ok losing a strand here and there says a lot. Me gathering loose strands, would be crazy. A man returning a strand to me, also crazy! It's just a hair! (Verdict: Not over-reacting.)

After telling the story to my male coworker, he posited the theory that the man was trying to find a reason to talk to either of the women near him. "But giving back a piece of hair?!" I asked/yelled. "Yes, men will try anything to talk to women," he said. Then my head exploded and I decided to remain single for the rest of my life.

But first I tweeted it, because I wasn't done expelling my rage. And I'm glad I did because my brother tweeted a reply back that instantly calmed me and put everything in perspective:

well atleast he didnt smell it and put it in a envelope.

I can't argue with that, baby brother. I can, however, ensure that the next time I walk on that bus I do so shaking my head and flinging bits of hair about like I'm in a mosh pit.

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.

Diamonds are forever

I love overhearing conversations. I don't know why, other than the fact that I can be really nosy and gossipy. It also may be related to my being a news addict -- I just NEED to know things. Or because I'm a writer, and I'm always on the lookout for a good line or character I can use in a novel. (Sidebar: When a friend says something interesting or has something funny happen to them, I claim it and tell them I'm going to use it in a novel. If I ever do get published one day, I am going to be SUED beyond belief.)

I also like to people watch, in a casual way. I can't just sit somewhere and watch people -- I need a book, my iPod, and a plan -- but I do notice people. Like today, at the Barnes and Noble in Georgetown. A mid-20s woman reading a magazine caught my eye because I liked her shirt, so I did a double take. She had the magazine on her lap, and her left hand ready to turn the page, engagement ring sparkling away, and she wiggled her finger a few times to watch it catch the light. It lasted probably only three seconds and then she was right back to reading her magazine and I turned so she wouldn't know I "caught" her. She didn't know anyone was watching, or didn't care. She wasn't grinning or being googly-eyed at it, just admiring the sparkle. Maybe it's because I like shiny things, I don't know, it just made me smile.