I like teasing out the ways in which living in DC is unique (some of my favorites include the helicopters that buzz my house and rattle my windows at all hours and the unique annoyance of being stranded on a street corner waiting for Cheney’s motorcade to go by) and I’ve decided that the fatigue professional is yet another such distinction. Being a civilian who’s spent most of the last 20 or so years in the NYC and Boston metro areas, I haven’t had much opportunity to see soldiers in day-to-day life except maybe for NYC after September 11th. In DC, there’s rarely a work day when I don’t share a metro car with men and women in uniform. Here in Crystal City, I see green army fatigues all over the underground halls of the shopping center, whether at the newsstand, McDonald’s, or ABP. I was, indeed, thinking about fatigue professionals when I walked in this morning. Then I got to my desk and found the image above as part of an invite e-mail to our holiday party. It captures the denizens of Crystal City so perfectly: fatigues, PBS, businesswear.
Crystal City really is the most bizarre, little place. First off, it sort of gives me the wiggins that I can go from the metro car to my desk without ever seeing sky (well, the window behind me at the moment doesn’t count). Sure, it was nice when it rained last week and during the last two, bitterly cold days, but there’s something almost a bit unnatural about it. I walk through a series of shiny hallways to an elevator that takes me to my building’s lobby. It’s about a third of a mile, maybe a little bit more from escalator to elevator. Lining the halls are advertisements (many for Crystal City itself), shops, and other elevators that lead to other office buildings. No one ever seems to be lingering anywhere, except for maybe inside ABP. The hallways tend to be two lanes of people in various workwear – mostly business casual but some full-on suits, jeans, and the aforementioned fatigues are mixed in – walking, shuffling, or sprinting to or from work. Like rival parades of khakis, skirt suits, and i-Pod headphones.
I guess I just can’t imagine that this place exists after 6pm. I remember coming to visit Freedman when he lived here back in the day (like, 2001). It was a weekend trip and I remember we took the metro more than once into DC proper. Walking through the underground “streets” of Crystal City, I was a bit creeped out. We were essentially alone in a massive underground mall that closed on the weekends. I don’t know how much has changed in the intervening years but I remember that, back then, there was nearly nothing here outside of business hours. I know that there was a big to-do about PBS (and its 500+ employees) coming to neighborhood. We’ve been told that we’ve made the neighborhood so much more hip with our presence. I suppose I buy that. Sesame Street (and all children’s programming, for that matter) does have that quasi-kitsch hipster appeal.
Still, although the underground city is dandy for work, I’m rather glad that I don’t live here. You can keep your weirdly deserted streets, shiny underground shopping mall, and Congressional representation. I’ll stick with my tiny, drafty and spectacularly situated hole-in-the-wall in the District.
Crystal City really is the most bizarre, little place. First off, it sort of gives me the wiggins that I can go from the metro car to my desk without ever seeing sky (well, the window behind me at the moment doesn’t count). Sure, it was nice when it rained last week and during the last two, bitterly cold days, but there’s something almost a bit unnatural about it. I walk through a series of shiny hallways to an elevator that takes me to my building’s lobby. It’s about a third of a mile, maybe a little bit more from escalator to elevator. Lining the halls are advertisements (many for Crystal City itself), shops, and other elevators that lead to other office buildings. No one ever seems to be lingering anywhere, except for maybe inside ABP. The hallways tend to be two lanes of people in various workwear – mostly business casual but some full-on suits, jeans, and the aforementioned fatigues are mixed in – walking, shuffling, or sprinting to or from work. Like rival parades of khakis, skirt suits, and i-Pod headphones.
I guess I just can’t imagine that this place exists after 6pm. I remember coming to visit Freedman when he lived here back in the day (like, 2001). It was a weekend trip and I remember we took the metro more than once into DC proper. Walking through the underground “streets” of Crystal City, I was a bit creeped out. We were essentially alone in a massive underground mall that closed on the weekends. I don’t know how much has changed in the intervening years but I remember that, back then, there was nearly nothing here outside of business hours. I know that there was a big to-do about PBS (and its 500+ employees) coming to neighborhood. We’ve been told that we’ve made the neighborhood so much more hip with our presence. I suppose I buy that. Sesame Street (and all children’s programming, for that matter) does have that quasi-kitsch hipster appeal.
Still, although the underground city is dandy for work, I’m rather glad that I don’t live here. You can keep your weirdly deserted streets, shiny underground shopping mall, and Congressional representation. I’ll stick with my tiny, drafty and spectacularly situated hole-in-the-wall in the District.
1 comment:
My favorite Crystal City story, other than living there and wanting to die, was my former roommate went to get a haircut at an underground barber there. And he called and the guy said come on over. So he went. And when he got there, the barber said he couldn't cut his hair, because he had to cut Donald Rumsfeld's hair instead.
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