Back then, I stood a handful of inches shorter, probably 50-60 pounds lighter, in serious need of new fashionable glasses and properly aligned teeth. I played travel soccer, had no clue how to lift a weight, was deeply involved in the school band and was far from what anyone would define as "attractive." If memory serves me correctly, I had two girlfriends. One was in seventh grade and I think the other was eighth. Both lasted less than 24 hours and I think the first was a whopping 45 minutes or single class period equivalent. Last time I checked she was a bank teller, so I won in the end. The other, a relationship that lasted a little over four hours and was ended by her friend at a high school football game, turned out to be the little sister of a good friend I still keep in touch with. She's engaged to be married. Again, notch that 'W' up for me.
Either way you look at the scenario, it wasn't pretty. The dearth of positives in middle school was apparent and besides summer vacations and moving on to high school, the only other plus was the coveted week-long trip to Washington, DC that every single eighth grade student in this country seems to go on. I'm guessing it was a combination of my lack of enthusiasm for being the 893rd person in my school selling the same candy bars to fundraise for the trip or my parents economic situation, but either way, I never got to go. As all my friends and girls I asked out that turned me down ("Alex I just want to be friends...") came back with FBI sweatshirts and stories about sneaking around the hotel, I felt like I missed an integral part of my middle school experience.
I reminisced over those thoughts when I was propositioned to chaperone the upcoming three day adventure with the eighth grade. I do have to note that I actually have been to our nation's capital before. I made two brief, but memorable visits in college when driving Nate back to GW and then visiting for a few days in the summer. Somehow I was driving one of the two cars into the city and almost got the pair of us and his little sister killed when I decided it'd be smart to drive in the bus lane and nearly collide with one such large vehicle. The second time I nearly missed my 8:45 a.m. flight home as I was up until 6 a.m. drinking the night before. I was familiar with the city, but hadn't gotten a chance to do much of the touristy stuff. My opportunity had finally come. 95 eighth graders, six faculty, two interns and three long days: I was goin' to DC.
Day I:
Typically when I'm in bed at 9:30, I'm both impressed and delighted. This wasn't the case seeing as I had to wake up at 3 a.m. to shower, finish packing my belongings and get the eighth grade boarders on campus ready to depart. Since there would be three or four kids in a hotel room, who knows how many showers they would actually take so it was important for them to start the voyage on the right, hygienic foot. As I walked around the dark campus opening the two dorms I was assigned, I reflected how odd a feeling it was to be wide awake and completely sober at 3:30 in the morning. Sure, in my college days and even a handful of nights in adulthood I have been awake at or past 3 a.m., but that was mainly on account of alcohol consumption. I also wondered what people would think if they saw me with my black jacket, black leather gloves and a flashlight trying to jiggle open the dormitory doors with my keys as one student did. After staring at me for a good five, who-the-fuck-is-this-stranger? seconds, he finally heard me say "It's Mr. May, open the door."
I was informed weeks prior that we would be flying down, thus avoiding the cramped and miserable number of hours trapped on a cylindrical vehicle with students who hadn't yet learned that a shower a day works better than spray cologne. The downside was that the group of 49 students plus four faculty had to fly out of Logan Airport at 6 a.m.. I was sufficiently warned that downtime would be scarce, but I had no idea how much activity would be squeezed into each day.
Unfortunately, I got little shut-eye on the hour or so flight. The plane touched down around 7:30 and I shuffled into the airport groggy and amazed that I willingly watched the sun rise. I was in major need of caffeine and food somewhere, and fast. It was barely past 7 a.m. and the Asian boys had taken a minimum of at least 25 pictures each. We performed three separate head counts and following a consensus of 44, it was off to one of the two coach buses that would ferry the group of frenzied eighth graders and stressed out, overtired chaperones around DC. The tour bus pulled up as I shivered in the chill March morning air. The driver was a tall black man with an accent that sounded like something Caribbean. His nickname was Mr. T. After doing yet another head count, Mr. T ferried us off to our healthful and invigorating breakfast destination: McDonald's. I was unaware at the time, but mostly every meal we had was comped by the tour program. I ordered my food as the 40-something students piled in, took the tray to a booth and unconsciously chomped down a bacon-egg-and-cheese sandwich and hash brown. The coffee I ordered wasn't Dunkin' Donuts and came three hours past when I should have drank it, but either way the caffeine was a welcome additive to my body.
The plan was to meet up with the second half of the group, so we clambered back onto the bus and drove off to our first destination, the Vietnam Memorial. As I mentioned previously I had visited DC, but never hit the tourist hot spots. I've always been fascinated by the Vietnam conflict and this was a treat for me. I had seen it in pictures before, but in person it is much more subdued than I thought it would be. Set into the earth in Constitution Gardens, the Wall is difficult to see from the road. Constructed in the shape of a V, you're immediately struck at how powerful it is in its simplicity. Though I didn't know of any specific names, I know my father did and as the sun warmed the polished black granite, I poured over the strangers before me. An astonishing 58,260 are on the Wall and around 1200 are still listed as missing. I wondered who these people were and how they died. It's strange wanting to know so much about someone you've never met, simply by looking at their name. I know I understood it, but I kept wondering if the kids did.
The next stop was the tallest and definitely most phallic point in DC, the Washington Monument. We finally met up with the other half of our tour and the kids rejoiced in this rendezvous by immediately roughhousing with each other, which prompted the 67 year old faculty member I coached basketball with to scream at them to "shut the hell up!" He, not unlike the rest of us, was not a morning person. I went with group of kids to the top and between them trying to see snipers on the White House roof, speaking Spanish, speaking Korean and taking a shitload of pictures I was ready to get on the ground and find another cup of coffee.
If you've never been to DC, the downtown area is remarkably clean. It's also one of the most heavily secured. Everywhere you look there is some sort of uniformed and armed police or federal officer looking to take you down if you even think about one false move. The world I live in is dramatically different after 9/11 and nowhere was that more apparent than here. We got another voucher, went through another security checkpoint and finally got to rest for a brief, but enjoyable lunch hour at the Ronald Reagan building.
Another cup of coffee and head count later, we were off to our next location. I know I'll visit again, but one place I highly recommend on a trip to DC is the Holocaust Memorial. I was advised before I went in about the power and magnitude of the exhibits, but nothing prepared me for the video and pictures. It was interesting because as I made my way through the many exhibits, I couldn't help thinking how desensitized to gore I've become. With all the horror movies and CSIs they have on television, there isn't much I haven't seen. But I was unbelievably horrified when I saw footage of the dead bodies being bulldozed into a pit at the concentration camps. In the section on the gas chambers there was also a video segment showing the experiments run by Mengele on the Jewish prisoners. I think what scared me the most was not only how cold-blooded the whole "Final Solution" was, but how calculated and intelligent the Nazis were. Any schmo can walk into a convenience store and shoot somebody, but Hitler and his confidants had systematic plans to build a master race and exterminate whomever they thought of as inferior. It's laughable that people still deny this ever happened.
In desperate need of some antidepressants, we moved on to the Korean Memorial. This is over in Constitution Gardens where the Vietnam Memorial, the Mall, the Lincoln Memorial and the Washington Monument are all in the same vicinity; an orgy of historical sites, if you will. Our group leader, a guy who had taken this very same DC trip for the last 24, count 'em 24, years sometimes isn't the most organized. The two buses were not only parked in completely opposite directions, but the "plan" to hit up the three monuments together quickly went to shit as the 95 eighth graders dispersed to be with their friends, casually visit the other memorials and ogle at the other eighth grade tour groups that infected the city that weekend, the primary reason being: females. Now I know I shouldn't be poking any fun at them because of my "game" (or lack thereof) back in the day, but it was pretty funny watching them try and flirt. As I stood on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, reminiscing about my days of infamy and trying to keep a lookout on our kids, I turned around to see two girls from another tour group approach me. What happened next was something I couldn't make up if I wanted to. The only one who talked took out her camera and awkwardly asked if I would take a picture with them because " You really look like Justin Timberlake!"
Now, I've never been one to boast extensively but some people (specifically women) have said I look like Dave Matthews. This is something I've always cherished deep down inside, seeing as I play the guitar and sing most of his music. I also have one buddy who keeps harping on the fact that I closely take after Jeremy Piven from HBO's Entourage. Okay fine, I'm not saying musically or comedically, I come close to either, but I guess I see a bit of the resemblance. They're both white guys with receding dark hair, I get it. But Justin Timberlake? I had to chuckle to myself and awkwardly stand there bundled up in my green winter hat as they took a picture. I guess it's better they thought of me as JT than Lance Bass, but that's beside the point.
(Haha, Justin Timberlake... Stupid public school kids...)
The sun was fading, the temperature was dropping and the patience of the faculty was shortening at record pace. It was time for one last monument--the Iwo Jima Memorial--and some food. The memorial was powerful, yes, and incredibly beautiful, yes, but after the day I had I was sufficiently monumented-out. Dinner was the top priority in my book. We corralled the kids, did another head count and zoomed off to the Sizzling Express. The Sizzling Express is located in the Foggy Bottom district of DC and a popular hangout for GWU kids. It's your typical buffet joint and the kids took full advantage of the free food. One such student, Steve, thought it appropriate and tasty to pile Chinese food, assorted vegetables and a piece of pizza slathered with a quarter pound of Macaroni and Cheese onto his plate. Disgusting and funny all at the same time.
The kids were clever enough to realize what could cure their fatigue issues and that they could purchase it with their own money while the group of faculty was huddled at a table eating their food, talking amongst themselves and generally trying to get through the first day without any major casualties. That cure? Red Bull. Immediately I cringed at what would be happening later on. I'd be asleep in my comfy Courtyard Marriot bed while the kids called each others rooms, watched TV and all but actually bounced off the walls, staying awake until breakfast the next morning. Apparently the year prior there was a Red Bull ban and I saw this edict coming back into play quickly. I was reassured a bit more though when we pulled up to the hotel and our bus driver told the kids that they didn't want to wake him up seeing as he'd be spending the night there too. If a black and very rugged former Marine tour bus driver threatening not to wake him up doesn't put the fear of God into the tiny frames of the pubescent 13 year olds, I don't know what will.
I, along with the other intern, went upstairs later on and kicked back a few cold ones with some other faculty to wind the day down. We shared some laughs, made fun of the kids that groped the statue of Eleanor Roosevelt at the FDR Memorial following dinner and braced ourselves for the rest of the trip.
When it was all said and done, my head hit the pillow at 12:30. My 21 hour day of hell, monuments and eighth graders had finally ended.
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