The tourists are here. Like Monday morning, we all knew they were coming, but they managed to sneak up on us and catch us of guard. Also like Monday morning, they are a necessary part of the week (or the city’s economy). We grin and bear Mondays because we have to in order to get to Tuesday (or in order to get to fall).
I don’t actually hate tourists. I don’t even hate Mondays, come to think of it. The hard truth is, I can’t dislike non-locals because I have been a tourist to DC a grand total of 7 times before last fall. I know all too well what it is like to be brushed aside as a bottom dweller because you are laughing on the Metro, or because you dare to use manners where a simple grunt or scowl will do, or to be mocked when you choose not to cross the street when there are only 4 seconds remaining before impending death by a local.
I understand the plite of the tourist. I really, really do. It’s just hard not to be annoyed when my commute goes from this:
to…well, I don’t have a picture of the actual cramped quarters of the Metro cars these days because it would be truly impossible to move my arms into camera-taking position. And plus, I would look like a tourist. But it is not unlike this situation:
It is difficult to remain pleasant when your personal space is being invaded by large groups of people in matching t-shirts, usually sweaty from walking from the Air and Space Museum to the Lincoln Memorial because the distance looks much shorter on the map, and group leader instructing the people at the back of the train when to get off the train in non-library voices.
Or, as in today’s case, a group speaking quite loudly in a foreign language. One of whom looked at me, said something to the guy at my side standing closer than I usually allow complete strangers to stand, causing the girl behind him to smile, causing the complete stranger at my side to say in a funny accent, with a look of complete horror, “Yo! Am I squishing you??” I was not exactly comfortable, but I found myself smiling and saying, “No, no, you’re fine”, because I promised my friend, and former DC travel companion, that I would not become a “hardened local”, that I would never stop Metro-surfing, and that I would not complete any given Metro ride without raising the corners of my mouth at least once. Ashley, I will confess that the last time I Metro-surfed was with you, and I often stare blankly out the dark windows and get off without sharing a joke with a fellow passenger. But please know that my internal dialogue while riding with tourists is not completely angst-filled.
So, DC, raise your glass and toast the sweaty non-locals who are lucky enough to live normal lives and are just enjoying a vacation in our nation’s capital. And while it is often hard to remember, with their colorful clothing and inappropriate happiness, they have just as much right to be here as you do. And plus, you never know when their vote will make or break your career.
JC on DC 
So what you’re saying is that tourists are to Washington D.C. what moms are to facebook.
I also wish I could ”like” Caleb’s comment!
”Like Monday morning, we all knew they were coming, but they managed to sneak up on us and catch us of guard.” When I read this sentence, I didn’t realize you were comparing the tourists’ arrival to Monday morning. Instead, I thought you were saying, ”Like, on Monday morning they told us the tourists where coming, so we, like, KNEW they were coming but it still, like, caught me off guard.” My first reaction was 1) who are you and what have you done with Jenny? and 2) So…someone came into your office on Monday morning and yelled ”The tourists are coming! The tourists are coming!”
I also feel like a tourist here sometimes, with my inappropriate happiness.
And lastly….does ‘bottom dweller’ reside in your vocab primarily due to You’ve Got Mail? Just wondering.