Currently Attending the University of Michigan—Washington, DC

Yesterday, as I was waiting for the Metro at Silver Spring at the godforsaken hour of 6am (I really can’t believe I’m saying that—I used to run six miles at that hour, now it’s all I can do to manage three miles at 6pm), I happened to look over to a brightly lit entrance to NOAA and unfortunately saw the grinning mugs of Bush and Cheney. I hate their presidential and vice-presidential portraits—their self-satisfied smirks clearly say “We’re heinous bastards who pretend to be good guys and we’re screwing the American people for as much we possibly can—and we’re loving every minute of it, punk bitches!” I wanted to psychokinetically make the portraits combust into all-consuming flames, but alas, the train came before I could Firestarter on their photographic asses.

That’s not something I should be subject to see so early in the morning, especially before I’ve had a Diet Mountain Dew. I just needed to get that off my chest. Thanks for reading and onto the real post.

Anyway, one thing I have never gotten around to blogging about was one of the weirdest encounters I’ve had in DC so far. With my U-M friend heading into town this weekend and hoping to live here soon, I was reminded of how many Michigan alums are floating around—I feel as if we’ve established our own satellite campus over here (and the DC branch would still rank higher than poor Dearborn or Flint). One day last year, while heading back to work after my lunch break, I rode the escalator up to the ground floor of the mall nearby and stared blankly about me. Back to work, back to work, back to work. It was once again an uneventful lunch, as all lunches should be unless you get clearance to drink on the job (which has happened in my company), in my humble opinion. Until . . .

“Excuse me?”

Me: “Yes?” A rather nervous looking man I don’t know is addressing me; I wake up a little and smile a bit—this person probably needs directions, and the then event-planner-in-training in me wanted to help (note: obviously, training’s over and I kick so much ass doing this).

Him: “Did you go to the University of Michigan?”

Me, puzzled, wondering if I somehow slipped into my Michigan English tee didn’t realize it that morning: “Yeah. Why?”

Him: “I saw you on campus a lot.”

Me, thinking it’s quite odd that anyone could pick me out from a crowd of 40,000 and be able to recognize me in a Virginia mall at least six years later: “Oh, I see . . .”

Small talk ensues, which includes majors at U-M, current jobs, and the obligatory how-long-have-you-lived-in-the-DC-area? question.

Him: “And I was heading back to work, and I was wondering if I could have your phone number?”

Me, startled; he’d seemed plenty anxious when he started talking to me and I had attributed that to him maybe being lost; my brain had not registered the unease as a forerunner of the request to come. I was caught a bit flat-footed—it seemed to me that the question came out of left field, and it was said in a voice that was nervous but kind of, sort of demanding. Me, stupidly: “You mean for a date?”

(Aside: Yes, I can be bright, can’t I?)

Him: “Yeah, we could go to dinner, have drinks . . .”

Me: “I have a boyfriend.” And he’s basically the reason why I moved here, along with a terrific career prospect, so I don’t think he’d be comfortable with me going out with a fellow alum on a dinner-and-drinks date. Right, honey? Right.

Him, crestfallen: “Oh. Well, it was nice talking to you.” He shakes my hand and then wanders away despondently, looking over his shoulder as I dart out the door to my office building.

I have to admit, it was a bit odd; a friend told me that he probably had a crush on me in college and just never plucked up the courage to ask me out back then (wouldn’t have worked then, either—not my type, I’m just saying). I’m wondering if he lived in the dorm where I worked and that’s how he saw me a lot; I certainly hope that’s it because I don’t like to think I spent my years on campus being stalked by an engineering grad student who definitely never graced my Med/Ren/Early Modern English classes. Either way, it was an unusual encounter—should I have another U-M run-in, I certainly hope whoever it is doesn’t see me as a potential love interest.