How many signs do you need?! Press the silver button to open the door!

As an intern in DC this summer, I basically waive any rights I have to making fun of tourists and other interns. Combined with the fact that I am a college student at a university in town does not exactly make me any more qualified to mock.

However, how can I resist the ohmygodwhatthefuckareyouthinking?! when I see such ripe examples of mocking around me?

Yesterday, I changed my routine of walking home most of the ways, to actually taking the circulator all the way home because of the EXTREME heat that DC has been experiencing for the past few days (tangential life story: I hate humidity. I have spent a good amount of time living in a desert and humidity is not my thing. I break out and get bitten by bugs and have wacky hair. Humidity is possibly why most sensible people would not build a city on a swamp. Oh but wait…). And yesterday, I saw some choice examples of “How to be an obvious tourist to Our Nation’s Capital.”

Three people were involved in this posse: two women and one man. On the bus they had the typical touristy things going on: constant and loud conversation about bus fares, frequent checking of maps, trying to make friends with other people.

All three wore fanny packs. I kid you not. Usually, one person has enough sense to not do so and, even with their Smithsonian bags, they still donned these bastions of bad fashion.

Their destination was obvious: the White House. How could I tell? Was it perhaps the counting down of streets: “ooh 14th street there, we must be getting close!”? Was it the overexcited jabbing at the STOP button? Or was it, perhaps, the desperate, panicked squeals that were heard when the bus OMG passed 16th street by half a block (to stop at it’s proper stop)?

As they attempted to disembark—I say attempted because they did the classic thinking-the-doors-are-going-to-magically-open-despite-the-fact-that-there-are-signs-and-arrows-EVERYwhere-clearly-telling-people-to-just-press-the-stupid-silver-button-to-open-the-doors—I had the chance to observe them in more detail.

First came a woman: she should definitely have invested in some sort of support system. Bellybuttons and breasts should never be so intimately introduced. Not to mention the classic sneakers, sport-socks pulled halfway up the leg, and shorts combo.

The second woman, despite her fanny pack proclivity, was not so bad. An all white ensemble could be construed as savvy considering the sweltering weather we’ve got going on here. I could have done without the knowledge that somewhere out there someone is painting giant flowers on Crocs.

It was the man accompanying them that really had my eyes rolling. You know those “airbrushed” t-shirts? Usually they have some sort of puppy or dolphin motif with italicized script about the location such a t-shirt was purchased. This particular item first boldly proclaimed the United We Stand. Followed by the image of an eagle and a patriotic flag. Underneath: These Colors Don’t Fade or Bleed or whatever. Trucker hat is implied.

A special shout out to the douche who breathed loudly and disgustingly on me in passive-aggressive protest against the world’s most annoying middle schoolers and couldn’t be bother to move his humongous long legs aside so I had to obstacle course my way out of my seat to the exit. It’s experiences like that, that clearly endear me to all humanity.