My usual commute involves trudging, grumbling, and a form of meditation by which I pretend none of my fellow passengers exist (a necessity for me, the world’s most outgoing claustrophobic). Commuting is my rare window of introversion. Aside from basic manners, I take little notice of anyone or anything.
Today, I noticed one of my fellow Metro passengers was wearing flip-flops. I’m not a fan of "mandals" as it is, but who the heck wears flip-flops in January? I shrugged it off and started my walk to work.
When I was almost to the office, I heard a rapid thwack-thwack-thwack behind me. It was Flip Flop Guy! He was smaller than me, had floppy hair and a beard, and was wearing a blazer, jeans, and an enormous Ron Paul button. He kind of looked like that guy we all went to college with, the one who took women’s studies courses more seriously than the women themselves did. Then he complimented me on my skirt and dashed off. Only when he was down the block that I realized he had basically chased me across the street, in flip flops, just to say something nice about my outfit.
I love this town. Only in Washington can you meet fashion-conscious members of the political fringe.
Perhaps tomorrow a Mike Gravel supporter will chase me across Dupont Circle to ask where I get my hair done, or a Lyndon LaRouchie will buy me a coffee.