DC Journals-Part 3

I woke up having fallen asleep with the lights on and C-Span running the beginning of the speeches at yesterday’s demonstration.

I immediately start to pack everything into my bags. I get dressed and head out to breakfast as soon as the dining room opens. I'm anxious to eat. I went to sleep hungry. The dining room closed at 9 o'clock last evening. Around the hotel the choices were limited. There was a Checkers Hamburger joint and a Dunkin Donuts. With the reaction I had to the chicken sandwich, I was probably better off until breakfast. I envisioned some French toast and or at the least a bowl of oatmeal.

Breakfast was buffet style and the selection consisted of scrambled eggs, sausage, croissants, biscuits and hash browns. The only thing I could eat was some barely warm canned biscuit, and some hashed brown potatoes with peppers and onions. Thank god for the red bell pepper and onions. That was the only vegetable I'd seen or eaten for two days other than the banana I had on Friday afternoon. Fruit was not available. I felt deprived. I've not had a hot meal or a decent meal for two days. I asked for hot water for tea indicating to the waiter that I had my own cup and tea. "Just hot water please." The waiter bought back my cup with a Lipton tea bag in it. I took it out quickly and put in the tea I bought with me.

I tried to enjoy my time alone and keep an eye on my time. I didn't want to miss the shuttle van service headed to the train station and Greyhound Bus station.

At another table I notice a scene that I'm trying to not to pay too much attention to. Three women were sitting at a table with a man. At first I hadn't noticed them. They caught my attention because the man with them is black and he has locked hair that hangs past his waist. I always notice other locked-heads. They apparently had been there a while, since it looked like they were finishing their meal. The room is relatively quite with the exception of the wait staff chatting and laughing at a table amongst themselves. A family sits in another corner with their two children a boy and girl barely school age. A couple sits quietly sipping on tea or coffee.

So back to the three women and the man. One woman is thin, young and has a ponytail pulled back into a puff of short curls. Another woman at the table has dark hair and wears a beige tube dress. When she moves the lights cause the glitter in it to flicker. She is a curvy woman. The other woman is the very opposite of her. She is very pale, tall and thin. Her skin is luminescent, but in a way that speaks illness. She is wearing a halter- top and her ribs show. The woman with the ponytail stands up and views herself in the mirror on the wall behind them. She pulls at a denim skirt that does not go past her upper thighs. She is loud. She tells the women at the table that if she had worn the other shoes, she could have made more money. She stands on her tip- toes.

The waitress comes over to the table. She addresses the woman asking if she wants coffee and she is ignored. The waitress lingers a moment longer and then walks away. The young girl says to the man, “ I gave you a hundred dollars the first time and one-hundred and twenty the second time.” There is some discussion about settling a cell phone bill.

I watch them and am becoming angry and disgusted. I’m see the man as taking advantage; earning money from the sexual labor of the women. I wonder about them. Why have the women made this choice for work? Perhaps it is not of choice, but necessity. If you hand him the money how do you take care of yourself? What does he use the money for? Is it a side gig for extra money or their only source of income? I wonder if the young one has parents she can count on? I wonder if the women have children who need this money for food and clothing? I wonder if the man has children and or a wife? Is this how he pays his rent? Why does he wear dread locked hair? It is the hair of honor. It is the hair of the Ethiopians that was Bob Marley’s signature style. I want to shave my head bald. I want to disassociate myself from this man. Yet I don’t want to get rid of my breast to disassociate myself from the women.

None of these people are dressed in any way that suggest,business is great. I’m making judgment calls about them. My anger becomes shame and anger again. I wonder why.

After a while they stand up gathering their belongings. The man is bucking is belt. They walk out slowly. People in the dining room turn to watch them leave. The man sees me. He acknowledges me with a nod. I’m offended. Normally I speak to anyone who speaks to me. Especially in a strange city. Especially when the person is black. This acknowledgement of ones’ own goes back to me watching my father addressing every black man he encountered with “How ya doing ‘bro?” I look away. He doesn’t seem to care.

It has been a long weekend.

On the van I met the couple I saw in the dining room. I find out they are from Queens, NY. We compare notes about the horrible food and the lack of fruit in the whole city. “They charge a dollar fifty for coffee in that hotel and you don’t get no refills. In New York, they pour and pour!” We are amazed at the number of homeless people in the shadow of the capital. There were not many and that is what made the few so noticeable. I imagine that the city does a good job of hiding them in the outskirts. I passed a few while walking the night before. I wondered about the resources available. At the church I spent the night in, the caretaker told me they feed about 150 people for lunch and dinner. There were signs all over about the hours the space was used for shelter

At the bus station, I have a hard time buying a ticket. I want to use my credit card. The clerk won’t accept the card because it is my husbands. She and the other woman at the counter are not nice. I tell her I’ve used this card the whole weekend. She tells me she can’t help me. She tells me go to the ATM and take out cash. I only have $15 dollars in cash on me. I don’t have access to any more cash. The ticket is 35 dollars I try to use the machine, but it isn’t working. I’m frustrated. I call my husband. I intend to get the phone number of my father-in-laws friend in DC. But first I rant about the horrible food, the couple on the van I met from New York, Greyhound’s credit card policy. He reminds me of my American Express check in my wallet. I had been saving it for something special. This is special.

Back at the counter the clerk see me in line and she seems to ready herself. I present the check. She says, “I don’t know if we take these.” I point to the sign next to her that displays the “We take American Express.” She turns it over and looks at the back. She asks her co-worker. The co-worker gives her the okay. I take my ticket and change.


I make a mental list in my head of all the things I will need to do in order to continue to travel alone:
1) Get a credit card in my name.
2) Apply for the road test to get my license.
3) Purchase a tent. (If I had a tent I could have stayed on the mall where the rally took place and not missed the concert or paid for a horrible hotel room. There’s a bathroom in every Starbucks on every corner in any city in America. Other wise I can dig my own latrine!)
4) Take a self-defense class.
5) Apply for a press pass.
6) Make friends with other independent journalist.