So I was looking at Google maps trying to find out where I’m supposed to be going tomorrow morning for my first day of work. There’s going to be a shuttle every day to and from The Foreign Service Institute in Arlington, but the first day of orientation is actually at the State Department building in downtown DC. I asked about a shuttle, but they said that not enough people asked for one, so it hasn’t been scheduled. They were very helpful and recommended I take the metro, and even sent me a nice little Word document with directions.

If I do want to take the metro, I’ll be getting off at the Foggy Bottom stop…which in itself is a great name. When I clicked on the address for more information, I noticed that it had six customer reviews. I thought that seemed rather random…why bother reviewing a metro stop. And then I came across this one, and simply HAD to reprint it. I hope you find it as funny as I did.


From 3/19/2009

Ok – imagine a New York City subway station and you have something close when you’re in Foggy Bottom.  Coupled with a case of near-diarrhea (yeah, TMI but it’s part of the review) and you have a recipe for an interesting review.

So…after the Breadsoda event, here I go, down the magic escalator.  Of course, with my Metro card being dumb lately, it started to give me the “SWIPE CARD AGAIN” crap and then eventually “SEE STATION ATTENDANT”.  Of course, I go over, press the button, and politely ask, “can you please help me with my card?”  Of course, I get…the finger.

No, not the bird.

But the finger.  Pointer up, face down, other hand doing what it already was doing.  Two minutes later, after my train already left, he acknowledges me and says, “Yes?”  I ask him to check my card since it’s giving me an error and he waves it across some magic pad, he motions me through his side gate, and away I go, right?


Apparently, someone didn’t tell me that I would have eaten a bad Domino’s pizza sandwich that would give me the runs later.  Of course, there are no bathrooms on the train floors – I mean, that would be way too convenient, right?  So I run back up, working hard not to break my Troegs glasses, and start to do the dance.  Of course, I get the finger again, and so I stand, knock-kneed as I’m squeezing my ass harder than a new inmate at Sing-sing.

After I ask him if there is a customer bathroom, the attendant sees me clenching, grimaces with an, “aw sh*t, I’m going to have to clean this up” look, and motions me to the double doors marked “employees only.”  In there, I find an old scuzzy bathroom that isn’t even worthy of a Greyhound station.  So what does a man do?  He clenches harder and builds a nest worthy of a bald eagle.

With my nest down, I go to work.  After finishing my business (I’ll spare the gory details), I fearfully walk out of the bathroom, working to touch nothing other than my own body parts or disposable cellulose, and wash my hands.  At least there was soap above the sink – even if I had to pump the dispenser 20 times to get a worthy drop that would lather my two hands.  Relieved, I walk back down to the platform and dutifully wait for my train to take my smelly ass home.

But hey, it’s metro, so of course the train was late and it had a bunch of fat inconsiderate passengers who decided to regale their girlfriends about what was on sale at the dollar store or talk about what they wanted to do to their boyfriend later (for cheating – it made for an interesting ride).


Food for thought.