Welcome; now kindly leave

Given that I am writing from our Nation’s capital on this historic day, I figured—what could be better than a blog post discussing how much I love to hate tourists in DC. Don’t get me wrong, I think today is a fantastic day, and I got goose bumps standing by the reflecting pool listening to celebrities discuss our founders and recite the words of past presidents. I’m not trying to diminish the significance of this spectacular moment. But I just wish it wasn’t happening right outside my doorstep.

Typical tourist season in DC extends from mid-June through the end of August. There are all sorts of categories of tourist sightings. The first signs of tourist season emerge on the metro. I heart DC and FBI t-shirts adorn sun-burnt youngsters who stand with their luggage blocking the doors, a middle aged man discusses loudly how smart they are for figuring out which direction they were supposed to go on the train, while another curses even louder when he realizes four stops too late that he missed his transfer point. And the children run up and down the crowded eisles, pretending to surf until they go flying.

The metro is only a beginning, however. The surest sign of tourist season is trying to venture into the Museum of American History, Natural History, or Air and Space on a weekend. Forget it. Stay home. It is not worth it. If you actually wanted to read the signs, too bad—because some little brat is probably rubbing his germy hands all over it and asking his mom (who is still two rooms behind him) to read it for him. Although I do love the fact that even in the heat and crowds of summer, the National Gallery usually holds vast expanses of quiet, empty rooms in which I can go to escape the masses momentarily. . . until I walk back outside on to the mall, that is.

I don’t know what it is about tourists that I love to hate so much. I can’t really blame them for wanting to come here; I mean, I love this city—why wouldn’t you want to come stand in the marble hallways and take in the splendor of it all? Where else can you spend days upon end not paying for a single attraction? It’s pretty cool.

But I still don’t want them walking four astride on the sidewalk when I’m trying to get to work, or hoping up and down around me when I’m trying to keep my balance on a crowded metro train, or slowing down the line at starbucks asking if they sell diet coke, or stopping me on the corner when the cross-walk timer is almost red to ask for directions. At the same time, the fact that I notice makes me realize how quickly this city has truly become my home; when the momentous history around me seems at times to be an inconvenience, I can’t help but smile, despite my hatred of crowds. And even though I left yesterday’s concert right as Obama was speaking to try and get to the metro ahead of the masses, I enjoyed taking it in as though I was a tourist myself. But that doesn’t mean I won’t be excited to see them all head home tomorrow and Wednesday. . .