A ride to change your life

I'm writing about this ride weeks after it happened because I was not capable of writing (or even talking, really) about it until a few days after. Then I wanted to wait until I knew the details before I said anything that wasn't true. But now I know the facts (or what facts were reported, at least) and can give you the story.

It's Thursday, Oct. 25, and it finally rained in Virginia. We had been dry since August, so we were all relieved. Unfortunately, it seemed people forgot how to drive in the rain. There were accidents everywhere. Traffic was slow getting to work in the morning and getting home at night. But at least it was rain.

I was heading home. My work-week was just about over and I was looking forward to the weekend. My ride that evening was a red pick-up truck, relatively new. I was in the backseat and another man got in the front.
The driver asked us how we were doing, both our responses were similar: "Love the rain, hate standing in it." He laughed, threw out some joke, we laughed and we drove off.

(It's amazing, I'm hesitating right now because, even after a few weeks have passed, my hands are trembling thinking about this.)

The ride made me a little nervous from the start. I think I caught the driver nodding off in the beginning and I would glance at him from time to time and watch him try to keep himself awake — shifting positions, rubbing his eyes, finishing off his water bottle.
Then there were the close calls.
Once we swerved onto the shoulder of the HOV lane because traffic suddenly stopped and he wanted to avoid running into the back of the Honda Civic in front of us (yes, even weeks later, I remember what we almost hit). And twice we almost got side-swiped by cars trying to move into our lane without seeing us (how one can miss a big red truck in your side mirror, I'll never know). It wasn't anything a good horn-honking couldn't fix.
Usually when we get off the HOV, I feel home-free as it's only about ten more miles until our exit and that goes by quickly when there's no traffic. But, because the HOV merging back onto Interstate 95 can cause major traffic jams on a clear day, it was expected to be bad that day what with all the rain.
We merged onto I-95 just fine and were able to get into the right lane pretty easily, but it was all crawling at a snail's pace after that.
We hadn't been off the HOV for ten minutes, nor had gone a mile, before the driver got a phone call. There was shrieking on the other end, I couldn't make out what was being said. But I remember what happened next.
"WHAT?!" the driver shouted and immediately pulled over to the right shoulder of the highway. No, he wasn't pulling over to stop. He was pulling over so he could floor it and bypass the halted traffic. We were flying down the shoulder at what had to be at least 90 miles per hour with dirt and gravel under the right tires (above which I was sitting) and those weird bump things that tell you you're running off the road under the left tires.
Only a few seconds after we got off the road, I heard a pop and knew a tire was gone. Not until after everything, I saw it was the back right tire.
There were several times where we almost slid off the shoulder and into the ditch or pack of trees that edge the highway. Once he had to stop and switch gears so the other three tires could compensate for the one lost. All the while, he's on the phone trying to call people or trying to call back the original caller. The other passenger and I are clinging to what we can, not knowing what was going on.
After a few minutes, he tells us: "My twins just drowned."
Holy crap.
At this point, I understand why he reacted the way he did. Granted, some people would say he shouldn't put two (possibly three if you count him) lives in danger in the hopes of saving two. But, what parent can say they wouldn't do the same thing?
I just hold on and pray we make it to wherever we're going safely. I know at that point he wouldn't want to go through the steps to drop us off at the commuter lot; he just wants to get home. So my thoughts turn to: What should I do if/when we get off the highway?
I'm still amazed that we made it to the exit. We were going on and off on- and off-ramps, on and off gravel, dirt, grass and whatever else is on that shoulder. No cops followed after us and only one person honked. We lost a tire, we slid several times, but we made it to the exit.
We got off the highway and instead of going in the direction to the commuter lot, the driver went onto the main road (like I expected).
"I can't drop you off, I'm sorry," he said and started driving on the shoulder of the road. What am I supposed to say? I'm sorry, but you have to follow slug etiquette and drop us off where you said you would? Honestly, I didn't want to go to his house because 1) of course, I would have to get home from there and 2) I didn't want to be at his house with something like that going on. I don't know this family and would feel terrified/guilty for being witness to such a personal tragedy.
Luckily, there is a stoplight as soon as you get off the highway and it was red in the direction we were headed with traffic going across the other way, so the driver couldn't keep going unless he wanted his car totaled and us dead, so he started slowing down. The other passenger took this opportunity to say, "Hey, just drop us off here and we can walk the rest of the way." The driver quickly unlocked the doors and we bailed. I almost left my umbrella lying on the floor, but I reached in and grabbed it before the light turned green and he shot off.
We watched as he sped away, leaving behind the shredded remains of his back right tire. All that was left was rim.
The other rider and I stood in the dark and the rain for a few seconds to catch our breath and get a grip on what just happened. I was shaking severely (I do that when I'm anxious or incredibly scared) and the other guy's mouth was gaping.
All that was said was
Him: Were you saying your prayers?
Me: I don't want to say those prayers again for a long while.
We opened our umbrellas and walked across seven lanes of traffic to get to the lot.

A few weeks after and I can tell you there was a bathtub accident and this man's 15-month-old twin boys drowned. I will not speculate as to what happened to lead up to the accident, I'm just gonna stick to the facts. If you want more information, here is the story that ran in the Free Lance Star.

Doing this differently

As the semester has grinded on, my energy has drained. Commuting takes a lot out of you. By the time I'm home, all I want to do is sit in front of the TV and veg. My dad pointed out: "You work from 8:30 a.m. to 5 p.m., but you leave the house at 6:15 a.m. and don't get home until 6:30 p.m. You're technically working 12-hour days."
Because of this, I'm changing the approach to this blog. I can't sit and write about every ride of each day, but I can write about the interesting ones. Hence why I'm writing today ... I had an interesting ride home.

Day ended like it always does. I made it to the Pentagon at about 5:30 p.m. The line wasn't too long, so I got into a car pretty quickly.
As per usual, I got in the car (front seat) and thanked the driver for the ride. Another man got into the seat behind me and we were off.
The driver asked how we were doing and we responded with the obligatory "Fine." And then there was silence.
After about 10 or 15 minutes on the road, the driver pointed out a white SUV driving in the lane to the left of us and said, "Look. One person in that car! I hate when people do that and don't get caught."
Haha, he spoke first! That's the green-light to talk. So I chimed in that it happens all the time.
"Really? I guess I just haven't been doing this long enough," he said.
I asked how long he had been driving slugs and he said only six weeks. The guy in the back and I both chuckled. The driver asked how long we had been slugging and I told him since August, so not much longer than him, which sent the guy in the back into laughter.
"I've been slugging since '89," he said.
This jump-started the conversation about slugging and how it was really just carpooling until the HOV lane was built in the early '90s. The driver was curious and amazed at how the system worked. The man in the back and I both started sharing our slug stories, none of them really exciting, but interesting, nonetheless.
Then we started talking about the area, more specifically where we all lived. The driver had just moved to the area from North Carolina and was still trying to get used to being a "Beltway Bandit." (I'm going to dialogue the rest of this conversation because there's no better way to present it.)

Me: Yeah, my Dad hated it. When he retired, [commuting into D.C.] was the one thing he refused to do.
Driver: Retired? From what?
Me: Oh, the Marines. He was working on Quantico when he retired and now they're sticking around until my baby sister graduates from high school.
Driver: If you don't mind my asking, what did he retire as?
Me: Lieutenant Colonel.
Driver: What's his name? Maybe I know him.
Me: (note: Every time someone has asked me this since I've gotten here hasn't known my father, so I'm not expecting anything. I tell him my dad's name).
Driver: (Repeats my last name for clarification.)
Me: Yes. (I spell it out for him.)
(pause)
Driver: Artillery guy?
Me: (At this point, I know he knows my dad). Yes!
Driver: I know your dad! Oh man, yeah! We were stationed at Camp Pendleton together and then Headquarters here in D.C.!

At this point, I'm excited and freaking out at the same time. It was exciting that this guy knew my dad, pretty amazing, actually. But if he was stationed at Pendleton the same time we were, it meant that he and I had met before ... when I was in kindergarten. Weird thought, huh?
The guy in the back seat is laughing again at how weird of a coincidence this is.
The rest of the ride was the driver and I talking about Pendleton (at least, me talking about what I remember of it) and about the families we knew there, many of which are still close friends with us.
When he dropped us off at the parking lot, he handed me his card to give to my dad. When I got home, I told my dad that I was talking about him with the guy I rode with this evening ...
Me: "... and the guy said you sounded hot. Wanted me to give you his card."
I haded the card to Dad and he couldn't stop laughing.
He couldn't believe it, either.

Day Thirteen

Morning: Short line this morning. I was shoved into the backseat of a silver Toyota sports car (sometimes I hate being short). It was a convertible, but the top was up (thank God). The driver was a very large white man with glasses and short, dark gray hair.
The radio station he was tuned to was highly annoying. I don't even know how to describe what it was. It wasn't country, but it wasn't pop it was some weird mix of the two. I wanted to lose myself in my iPod, but it was dead. I went to sleep instead.
Evening: My ride this evening was a black Hyundai. There were two people in the front already when they drove up and they took two of us (I love it when people who can fit four seat four).
The driver was an older woman, mid- to late-50s and the gentleman in the passenger seat was about the same age, if not older. She wore her hair cropped short. She had on a black shirt and gold-hooped earrings. She would not stop clearing her throat for the entire ride. By the end I wanted to throw my water bottle at her.
The gentleman (her husband?) was in a blue and white striped shirt. He was pudgy around the middle, but he had a kind face and spoke softly. He didn't speak to me or the man who got in with me, only to the woman. The woman did thank us for riding with them, though, as we got in.
There was a handicap tag hanging from their rearview mirror. After watching them both for a bit, I think the passenger is the handicapped one simply because of age ... but it's just a guess.
The man who got in the back seat with me was an Army colonel. I so badly wanted to talk to him because I saw he had a West Point Academy ring on his right hand. I almost wrote "Go Navy, Beat Army" on a piece of paper and passed it to him, but that sounded so juvenile, I talked myself out of it. He fell asleep during the ride which allowed me a closer look at his ring. Could have been awkward if the woman looked in the rearview mirror and saw me up close and personal with this guy's right hand and, for all I know, she could have seen it. But nothing was said.
I almost said something as I got out of the car in the parking lot, but again, I held back. Maybe I'll see him again closer to the big game ...

Day Twelve

Morning: The line was long this morning, but I didn't mind. The weather was nice (always good when the sun isn't up yet) and I kept myself amused with the license plates that came through the lot. There was a man who came through in a silver Saturn Vue. He had a University of Michigan frame around his Virginia license plate and I chuckled when I saw it (as did the man standing next to me). Appalachian State beat Michigan ... I love it.
Another was a Virginia plate as well, but it had a Florida State Seminole theme. It said: "I H8 UF" Oh, college football, how I missed thee.
My ride was a brand new BMW. I didn't catch the model, but it was pretty. It was black with a black interior. I almost spilled my coffee getting in (could have been a nightmare). I usually use a Starbucks mug that's awesomely leak-proof. I'm confident enough to throw it into my bag with my computer. But my mug was dirty and I had to grab another that's not as reliable. Thankfully, I caught myself before it happened and I don't think the driver noticed anything.
We hit traffic as soon as we hit the highway.
The woman driver and the guy who got into the passenger seat knew each other. I don't know if they were neighbors or if I was experiencing the beauty of the slug line. People just get to know each other.
Apparently, the driver (who works in Stafford) was heading up north for an interview for a new job. She never said what it was, so I can't claim I know any special people who are privy to government secrets. The passenger said his wife has a new job but just got offered a position somewhere else with higher pay. She wants to take it, but, as the man pointed out, this is her third job in two years ... that doesn't look good on a resume. I silently agreed. The talk soon turned to resumes which I know enough about so I tuned out for a while.
School has started, so they started talking about their kids. They both have sons who play football, though they never mentioned how old they were so I don't know if its middle or high school football (yes, the middle schools here have football teams). The passenger mentioned how he made brownies for his son's first day of school. I had to hold back a chuckle. I just found the idea of this man — dressed up in his Army uniform — making brownies in the kitchen amusing.
Soon conversation ended and the man in the passenger seat fell asleep. I sipped on my coffee (it was overflowing and I was paranoid from the near-spill accident earlier) and listened to the traffic/news station the woman was tuned to until we got to the Pentagon.
Evening: My ride home was miserable. I was in a tan sedan (didn't catch the make or model) with two men who knew each other and a woman who had been waiting in line with me.
The two men talked the whole ride home. They were talking about working at the Pentagon, their kids, the different schools in the area, commuting and Colorado Springs. The woman in the back next to me broke a slugging rule by talking on her cell phone — the ENTIRE TIME! I couldn't believe it. Apparently (from what I gather from her side of the conversation) she was in D.C. for a court date. Seems she was in a fender bender. She wasn't just talking to one person, though. She would get off the phone with one person then call someone else. I guess it's a good thing the two guys in the front were talking because, otherwise, someone could have gotten yelled at.
I so badly wanted to sleep, but everyone was talking and it was so hot in the car, I just couldn't do it. The AC was on, but I guess the vents weren't really pointed to the back. It was so hot and stuffy and the smell wasn't pleasant either. I couldn't wait to get out of the car. I practically ran out when we got back to the commuter lot.

Day Eleven

Morning: I was in a Toyota Camry this morning — green, pretty new model. It smelled delicious and I couldn't tell if it was the car (there was a generic air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror) or one of the riders was fabulously cologned.
The man in the front seat was listening to his iPod the entire ride. He was in his early to mid-30s, attractive — casually dressed in a red t-shirt, brown shorts with a brown messenger bag (I saw it at the stop). He had short, dark hair and a beard trimmed pretty short.
The driver looked young from the back but, once you saw his face, knew he was at least 45. He was dressed in a blue, yellow and white striped polo shirt with khaki pants. He kept scratching is right cheek (I started counting after around 5, but lost count after 40). He had a pretty big nose, which I only saw in profile when he looked over his shoulder to check his blind spot.
There was a license plate and a Bible in the pocket behind the driver's seat. I don't know what state the plate is because it was facing into the chair. The car was washed, but not very well — once we got sun shined directly on the window, you could see the soap residue. It was in a neat pattern, up and down and around the edge like your typical car washer would do.
The driver couldn't make up his mind as to what station he wanted to listen to. Eventally, he switched to a CD. It was mostly rock ballads. We listened to White Snake, Poison and Cutting Crew, but he skipped over some good ones I wouldn't have minded listening to like Journey (Don't stop, believing!!!) or Bonnie Tyler (TOTAL ECLIPSE OF THE HEART!!!)
The ride was silent minus the driver's schizo music choices and the faint noise you could hear from the passenger's earbuds.
Evening: There was no line at the Pentagon this evening. There was a line of cars waiting at my stop for someone to walk up. As I was heading in that direction, I saw a Nissan Altima also going that way with a Naval Academy license plate. I so wanted to hop in his/her car as I knew that would be something we could talk about (Dad is class of '83, go Navy, beat Army!). I got lucky, though, the tan Honda Civic waiting first in line for someone heading to my lot also had Naval Academy tags. I jumped into the passenger seat of the car ready and willing to get into it. We had to wait for a third rider before we left, so I (breaking the rules) started the conversation while we waited.
"Saw you had Naval Academy tags, you or your husband?" I asked ... I already had taken note of her wedding band.
"Both, actually!" she replied and our conversation was underway. We got our third rider and she and I talked the rest of the way.
She graduated from the USNA in 1993, her husband in 1994. They both ended up in the Air Force — he cross-commissioned (which never really looks good on your record) and she went Navy before heading to the Air Force. She told me stories about how her class did the Herndon in 93 minutes (great for the class of '93). For those of you who don't know what she means by "did the Herndon," I'll explain: The Herndon Monument is monument at the Academy that represents the acme of "plebe year" (freshman year). The monument is covered with lard at the end of the year and the plebes must climb it (usually by human pyramid) and replace a "dixie-cup" (plebe headwear) with a cover. This represents the end of their plebe year. If you type "herndon monument" in Google images, you can get an idea of what insanity it can be.
We also talked about Navy games, especially Army/Navy. I told her my father got season tickets to Navy home games and she told me to enjoy every minute of it. And we talked about Cantler's Riverside Inn, the best crab shack anyone will ever know.
I witnessed by first blown tire on the highway during this ride. Don't worry, it wasn't the car I was in. There was a truck about half a mile ahead of us and, since we were going downhill, we could see it pretty easily. A huge cloud of dust suddenly overwhelmed the entire spread of the highway. The driver nonchalantely said, "Ooooh, blown tire" and we watched cars go everywhere. Thankfully, the truck whose tire blew moved over to the shoulder very quick and no one got into accident. Business resumed as usual.

Labor Day

I have no slugging journal for this day. I did have to work but, because it was a federal holiday, there were no slug lines (those Pentagon kids had the day off). So, I instead had to drive 20 minutes up to the Franconia/Springfield Metro stop (the southernmost metro station), parked and took the Metro into downtown.
Normally you have to pay when you park in those garages, but I got to drive right out of it at the end of the day. Maybe they gave those people who had to work today a break. Or the gate guy forgot to put the gate down. Either way, I got the better end of the deal.

Day Nine

I didn't get back until after midnight last night, hence the delay in updating. I only had one ride yesterday because I took the Metro out to Vienna in the evening to meet my father and sisters at Wolf Trap theater to see West Side Story. Dad, of course, drove us home from there where we picked up my car at the commuter lot.

Morning: Rode in another red Prius. How weird is that? But, as usual, I made myself look like an idiot and asked the guy driving if he was the one I rode with the night before. He looked confused and then said, "No, I don't think so." Silence for the rest of the ride ... a little more awkward now because I'm dumb.
The car wasn't very "lived in," though I knew the car was his with his numerous keys on his keychain (not dull like the other rentals/leases I've been in so far). There wasn't anything hanging from the rearview mirror or stuff in the center console. It was just plain ... but it at least smelled new.
The guy was flipping through radio stations the whole ride, like it was cool or something. He stopped a station that had just started playing "Don't Stop Believing" by Journey. I immediately started to miss my friends back in Missouri. One had this as his ringtone (the one the caller hears instead of the dull ring) and the rest of us just go plain crazy when a Journey song comes on.
Traffic was congested from the get-go. I really do hate the on-ramp where I live. Typically, on-ramps are supposed to be about a mile long giving traffic the opportunity to merge onto the highway but, no ... if you stay on our on-ramp any longer than half of a mile, you're getting back off again. Pain.
My most entertaining moment of the ride? A HUGE Ford truck drove past us -- it was a '90s model, big tires, a good amount of lift, fog lights on top of the truck and your classic "balls" hanging from the back of the hitch. Even better was the license plate: OBSCNE

Day Eight

So, I'm actually at work while I'm writing this. I figured I'd write about my morning ride and save the draft and finish with the evening ride when I got home. How do I have the time for this at work? Our design system -- an ancient program called Hermes -- just crashed on us so we're waiting for the tech guys to fix the problem. Meanwhile, everyone is doing something not work-related. It's amazing.

Morning: The line at the commuter lot was crazy long. I'm glad I still left early despite not having to be at work until 8:30 a.m. As soon as I got to the lot, I realized I had forgotten my lunch -- on the day I actually pack it. I called my mom (who was supposed to be on her way to work) to see if she could just drop it off at the commuter lot on her way there. She was already on the road. Erg ...
One nice car after another came by and picked up all the people in line in front of me ... and I got stuck in the black Toyota sedan that smelled of stale smoke. Yummy. I offered the front seat to the gentleman who had been standing in front of me, but he declined saying he prefers the backseat anyway. I found out why -- enough space to comfortably fall asleep.
I got in the car and thanked the driver for the ride, but got no response. When I looked over at him, I realized it was because he was plugged in. He had earbuds in his ears which were hooked up to the SIRIUS handheld radio he had mounted on his dashboard. The car was silent while "Stern Spotlight" was pouring into his brain. This is the first time I have been in a car when slugging and the radio was not on. But that wasn't what bothered me. Driving with head/earphones on is illegal (for obvious reasons). Made me uncomfortable, but what could I do about it? I decided I'd check out and plugged into my iPod.
The car was kinda dirty, but not disgusting. It was that "lived in" kind of dirty where you know he drives it around a lot and either is too lazy or doesn't have the time to clean it (though my money is on the former). He was wearing a short-sleeve, black button-up shirt and dark olive slacks. His red hair was messed up like he had just gotten up from a nap and he wore oval rimless glasses. He had a ring on his right hand that looked way too small for his finger. The skin was bulging on its edges. He drove with his hand at the 5 and 7 o'clock positions -- his arms were practically stretched all the way out with how far back he was sitting. He kept glancing over at me which made me nervous. I never made eye contact, but I was curious as to what he kept looking at. I assumed it was my iPod, maybe to catch what I was listening to in order to figure me out through my choice of music ... who knows.
There were a lot of cops on the road today. I counted eight with their lights flashing, but there were a good number more sitting around and waiting for their catch.
Driving into the city still gets to me. I love coming up over the hill towards the Pentagon and suddenly you can see all of D.C. in front of you. It's awesome in the early morning when I get there because the sky is still pink from the sun rising and you get to see a plane leave or land from Reagan National and watch it fly over all the memorials. There's a new site on the drive and, even though I've seen it before, it still seems new. It's the Air Force Memorial. I laugh every time I see it because my dad once showed me an e-mail that was sent among Marines describing the purpose of the memorial. It's dedicated to the Air Force and is a tribute to flight and engineering (obviously). But the joke among Marines is: If it's supposed to be a dedication to the Air Force, there is an element missing.
I thought it was funny.
Evening: The line was long again at the Pentagon, but not as bad as it was the other day. Had to wait about 15 minutes for a ride. Meanwhile, I kept myself entertained with the man behind me and the man two in front. The man behind me was Asian in looks, but spoke like he's lived here all his life. He was on the phone with his wife/girlfriend and kept telling her how to discipline their child -- put her in time out, spank her, take TV away from her. Meanwhile, the man two places ahead of me kept wandering and pacing in his little spot on the sidewalk. He was fidgeting and walking kind of strange, like he desperately needed to go to the bathroom, but didn't want to leave the line (which is stupid because even if he were to get into a car, he'd still have to wait until we got to the commuter lot where he would then have to get in his car and drive home).
Myself and the woman in front of me were picked up by a red Toyota Prius. I've seen them everywhere -- I think they're one of the most popular hybrids -- and it was a matter of time until I got to ride in one. This is my second time EVER being in a hybrid and this was different than the first.
My only hybrid experience was in a Honda Civic owned by a friend that lives down the street from me. The Civic was set up like any other car, complete with ignition and a dashboard similar to any other car.
The Prius, on the other hand, was a completely different set-up. There was no ignition ... but there was a power button! And the typical display for speed, RPM, gas gauge and everything (which usually sits right behind the steering wheel) was instead set back and under the windsheild. So weird ... it almost didn't feel right. The dials/buttons for A/C, radio and all that fun jazz were gone, too. There was a large screen set in the middle of the dashboard with four buttons on its sides (two on either side) which would control which screen you view (Climate, Entertainment, etc.) and everything is touch-screen from there. I would assume that's dangerous as it's more distracting than just reaching over and turning a knob to crank up the A/C. I wanted to talk to the driver about the car but I held back. I was good. I was also curious as to why he picked us up. He's a hybrid ... he didn't have to. He could have driven by himself. The kindness of some people ...
Now I just need to get picked up by a motorcycle. Though I don't think that's even legal.

Day Seven

Morning: This morning, I was in my car! Well, not really. The man who drove has a slightly newer model of my car ... but he still didn't have power locks or windows, which made me feel better.
The driver of the green Saturn was casually dressed. He had on a blue collared shirt with white sripes and a khaki shirt. The man in the front was in black slacks and a white collared shirt. When we were picked up, he went for the backseat. I told him to take the front as I was smaller and would fit better in the backseat.
So, I was in the backseat and was blasted by this guy's radio because the speakers were right behind my head. He started off at the classic rock station, but it started fading once we hit the highway, so he switched to some crazy '80s station and it drove me CRAZY. Don't get me wrong, I love the '80s ... but not at 6 a.m.
As we were approaching the Occoquan exit, a woman came on the radio to announce the traffic report and said traffic was backed up on both I-95 and the HOV lane from an accident at Occoquan. It was surreal because, as she was talking about it, we were approaching it. We saw the lights flashing and the traffic was most certainly backed up. By the tmie we got to the accident, the car was being put onto a tow truck. The front half was smashed in. They must have hit the cement divider or something because there were no other cars being towed or taken care of.
I was paranoid about the Metro this morning. There were reports on the news that there were random fires and power surges on the tracks. The website said they were up and running this morning, so I was taking chances that I'd be okay. And I was.
There was a hilarious commercial on the radio as we were approaching the Pentagon. It was a Comcast commercial selling their cable/phone/Internet package. They were calling it 'televisiphonernetting." I could not stop laughing and they driver was looking at me like I was crazy. But it was funny ...
Evening: A man in a flight suit picked us up in a black Jetta. Like a kind gentleman, he took three of us. I was in the front seat and two men were behind. I was having trouble adjusting the seat, so the poor guy behind me was eating his knees and I couldn't do anything about it.
The driver had the A/C blasting and, luckily, it wasn't right in my face — it was more focused toward the back. But, eventually I couldn't feel my ears, so I asked him to turn it down (he said that he would turn it down when someone said something).
I was looking around the car without trying to be too invasive. I knew this car wasn't his from two things: the toe separators in the center console (you know the things you get when you get a pedicure?) and a graduation tassle hanging from the rearview mirror. The tassle was maroon and orange (Virginia Tech colors) but there was a wildcat and 2007 hanging on a golden chain on it, so I knew it was from Mountain View High School (my sister graduated from there).
I broke the cardinal rule of slugging and asked if it was from Mountain View. The driver said yes, his daughter just graduated from there. We talked for some time about high school, how his daughter is going to James Madison and his son is starting at Mountain View. My sister is NOT going to school and he seemed a little thrown off when I said that.
He and his family used to live in Tampa, so we talked a little about the area. Then it was silence the rest of the way. Fun.

Day Six

So, today was my first day of official work. I had to be at work at 8 a.m. (as opposed to 9 a.m. or later all last week). So I left home at 6:15 a.m., half an hour earlier than last week.
Morning: Got to the lot at about 6:20 a.m. The line for the Pentagon wasn't very long, nor was there much of a wait. I guess people are just coming and going that early in the morning.
My lucky ride was a silver Caravan. I was in the backseat -- or rather, the middle seat, since it was a van. As the other gentleman and I got in, the driver -- casually dressed in a blue and white striped polo and khaki shorts -- told us "radio volume and air temperature are negotiable, but keep your hands off my coffe." When he started saying "Keep your hands ..." I thought we were in trouble, but the ending was fine ... amusing. We both said we had our own (I had a large Starbucks mug and the other gentleman had a plastic mug with a logo on it, though I couldn't read what was written over it).
As we pulled away, both men addressed each other by name. It surprised me. The passenger said something I didn't catch and the driver responded by saying "I have to take one of my kids to the doctor, which is why I'm driving today." The other man nodded and proceeded to compose numerous e-mails on his Blackberry (I don't think he took his eyes off of it the entire ride).
The driver has at least three kids. I deduced this from the three carseats that were in the van. The one to my right was meant to hold an infant. There was a Playskool mirror hanging behind the passenger seat so the baby could see itself (we are raising our kids to be self-conscious). There were toys and kiddie-books on the floor and thrown into the carseat. There was a "Dora the Explorer" window shade to block light from the child that would be sitting there. It had Diego, Dora's friend, on it and, apparently, he's an animal lover ... he was holding a cat under his arm.
In the seat behind me, there were two bigger carseats -- most likely for kids who weren't tall or heavy enough to sit on their own yet.
The driver seemed exhausted through the entire ride. He kept yawning, stretching, groaning and gulping down coffee. Made me a little nervous.
Traffic was nasty. I-95 was backed up for a good bit once you hit Occoquan, and the HOV lane was stopped a few miles ahead of that. I fell asleep while sitting in traffic, so I didn't get to see what was holding everything up. I woke up as we were approaching the Pentagon. The driver dropped us off, we thanked him for the ride and I headed for the Metro.
Evening: Relatively uneventful, but the line was RIDICULOUS! I got off of work earlier than expected, so I was at the Pentagon at a little after 4 p.m. Now, when the line is about 15 people long, it still fits in the designated area on the sidewalk. This line went off the sidewalk and into the motorcycle parking lot. I would say there were about 40 people in line to head back to my commuter lot. Thank God I just bought comfortable shoes. The weather was warm, which wasn't working in my favor as I was wearing slacks and a fitted black shirt with 3/4 length sleeves. Kinda hot ... and by hot, I mean sweaty.
After waiting for about 20 minutes (which isn't as bad as I thought it would be) three of us were picked up by a red Dodge SUV. I love it when cars that can pick up three people actually take three people. Normally a driver will only call for two because three is all you need to get on the HOV lane. But, some people are kind enough to get on the HOV lane with four because they can fit four. Makes the line move faster, too.
Within five minutes of being on the road, the man behind me (I was riding shotgun) was snoring. Us three had a good chuckle over that.
The driver had a sports station on the entire time, so I was forced -- yet again -- to listen to Michael Vick's message to the public. Don't you love how he found Jesus through this? And that he kept referring to himself in the third person ("Now is the time to make Michael Vick a better person")?
I tried reading my George Washington biography, but couldn't keep focused, so I just looked out the window and in my area around the car without looking like I was a creep or anything. There was a sticker on the inside of my window with a cigarette and red cross thingie through it with "Thank you for not smoking" written around it. I thought this was odd to have in a car and my first thought was maybe this guy carpools a lot and put it there because he's had bad incidents before. Within seconds of that thought I realized I'm dumb ... what kinds of cars have those stickers in them? ... rentals ... So I glanced over at the guy's keychain in the ignition and, sure enough, it was a rental. Huge metal ring with one key, one fob and a plastic keychain with a description written of the car. I've seen them before.
I listened a little longer to the radio, read more of my book and, without any problems, was back in my commuter lot by 5:15 p.m.
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Something I wanted to add regarding the Army guy I rode with on Friday. You know how the Army always wears the American flag backwards on their arm on their uniforms? Finally found out why. The field of blue heads into battle first. Imagine the calvary on their horses riding into battle. One person is carrying the American flag ... how is it flying? Yup, field of blue faces the opposition. Makes sense ...
Also, this week should be interesting. One of the managing editors might want me working here from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. as opposed to the original plan of 8 a.m. to 4:30 p.m. If I work until 6 p.m., that means I'm not at the Pentagon until 6:15 p.m. which means ... yeah ... I'll have to make a sign. Maybe I should laminate it, too.

Weekly Lessons

1. Do not talk unless conversation is initiated by the driver.
2. Most conversations take place between the driver and the person in the passenger seat. The passenger in the back hardly ever chips in to conversations.
3. Mornings tend to be the most quiet.
4. Hybrid cars are popular on the HOV lane because hybrid cars bought before July 2005 can get a special license plate allowing them to travel on the HOV lane without the required three passengers. Those license plates have a globe on them, four digits and a CX or CF (meaning clean exhaust or clean fuel).

End of the week

Morning: Dull ride. Almost fell asleep several times. This morning I was in a white Saab sedan. The woman driving must be a fan of purple because she was wearing a purple sweater-shirt, purple slacks and a purple jacket was hanging behind her. There was a white scarf with polka dots on it ... actually went really well with the suit. She wore diamond studded hoop earrings. She also had a Nicorette patch on her right arm.
She was drinking coffee which she kept in a cupholder hanging from the dashboard and eating something from the pocket in the door on her left.
The other passenger was a Hispanic man in a brown pinstripe suit and a blue shirt with a blue tie. He read the Washington Post the entire ride.
The driver had the radio set to some Jazz station that was driving me crazy. It sounded like elevator music ... really bad elevator music. But, her coffee did smell good. This morning I decided to skip my coffee and went with a water bottle, but after smelling her coffee, I went to the bakery on the first floor of the building where I work to get some coffee.
This woman freaked me out when we got to the Pentagon, though, because she drove past the normal drop spot and further into Pentagon parking. She dropped us off at the more Northern side (as opposed to the Eastern side where we're usually dropped). So I had to walk a bit to get to the Metro. Thank God I wore flip-flops today. My feet wouldn't go back into heels after this week.
Evening: My friend got to experience slugging with me this evening. Because of how late our schedule took us into the evening, tonight was the latest I have shown up at the Pentagon. The parking lot was the emptiest I've seen it, though there were still a good number of cars. There was no one in line at the slugging stations, so I was slightly nervous. After we had been standing there for a few minutes, a woman and gentleman were walking across the parking and yelled at us asking if we were slugging. We said yes and she instructed us to "Go to the wall" and pointed to the "wall." It was really the framework supporting the interstate. There were two people standing there holding signs for the destination they needed. I couldn't believe it. This turned into actual hitchhiking. I got excited though, because it's just another experience to add to my list.
My friend and I walked over with this woman and she instructed us that, after 6 p.m. the line moves over here. She then asked, "Do you have a sign?" as she pulled out a laminated — LAMINATED — sign that had the destination printed on both sides. She handed it to me and said, "Here, sweetie, hold this and wait for someone to come and get you." A car had come up during this exchange and, since we were newbies and had no idea what we were doing, she ushered us to the car telling us she could wait. I thanked her and handed her sign back and we clamored into the red Toyota truck.
A man in an Army uniform was driving. I had an interesting time climbing into the truck, but I made it. I was in the passenger seat and my friend sat in the back (as per my request, see reason in Lessons of the Week). I thanked him for the ride and threw out there — despite the fact it somewhat violated etiquette in that I was initiating conversation — that this was the first time I had slugged this late and had no idea what I was doing. The guy laughed and reiterated what the woman told us before; after 6 p.m., you stand by the wall.
Conversation was great. We started talking when we left the Pentagon, and it silenced a bit when we got on the highway. Thank God, my friend noticed the driver was surfing through a bunch of sports stations on his SIRIUS radio and said, "I see you're a football fan ... does that mean you're into the Redskins?" That spurred conversation for the rest of the ride. We talked about sports, our jobs, his job, his family. He grew up mostly in Northern Virginia, spent some time in the Philadelphia area and then went into the Army. Since joining, he's been to Oklahoma, Alabama, Germany, Maryland and now the Pentagon. But don't think he's boring yet — he's spent a lot of time overseas. He was in the Balkans in the late '90s and did some time in Iraq.
Near the end of the ride, he got a phone call from his wife and he suggested doing ice cream later with the kids. He said Maggie Moo's (one ice cream shop here in town) and I chided him when he got off saying Bruster's is the place to go. He admitted he likes soft ice cream at which time my friend and I go crazy and say, "If you're ever in St. Louis, go to Ted Drewe's. BEST FROZEN CUSTARD EVER!" He sounded excited at the idea and said he would talk to a friend who lives in the area to hear about it.
By then, we were getting out of the car. It was a great ride and I'm glad my friend was there to see how the sytem really works. Slugging has become the popular topic of conversation among my group, so it's been great having someone put in their two cents.

Day Four

I guess fate made up for being good to me yesterday as nothing really exciting happened today. Both rides were silent ...

Morning: I knew before getting into the dark blue Honda Accord that this was going to be a quiet ride. The woman driver looked professional, just not approachable. She looked old, but not age-old but the "I've been smoking for 20 years" old. She had blond hair, wiry and shoulder length with bangs. Her face was long and sallow. She wore oval, wire-rimmed glasses and had on pink lipstick. She always drove with two hands on the wheel — she had a wedding band on and her nails were painted a dark red. She was wearing a long-sleeved, white collar shirt and a jean skirt. Her sleeves were rolled up to the elbow. A jean jacket was draped over the center console.
Thankfully, a few minutes after I got into the car, "We Will Rock You" by Queen came on the radio. I sang along with it in my head. A few more classic rock songs came on after. I took note of the radio station (100.3) because I have been looking for that station around here ... now I know it!
The idea that this woman smokes has to be legit. The car smelled of it. It wasn't overpowering, so I'm guessing she smokes with the window down so only a faint smell sticks around. The fabric was a light tan and will need vacuuming in the near future. Tissues were shoved into the pocket behind the passenger seat and several sanitizing gel bottles were in the pocket behind the driver's seat. An instant meal box (spaghetti) was on the floor behind the driver's seat.
She has some family ... kids? nieces/nephews? grandkids? There are pictures hanging on her keychain.
The gentleman riding with us sat in the front seat and immediately fell asleep. Even more impressive, he brought a travel pillow with him! It was one of those pillows that wrap around the neck and you can just rest your head on either side.
"Desperado" by The Eagles came on the radio and caught the driver lip syncing to it. Made me chuckle as I was doing the same.
I kept myself busy during the ride by reading a book. It made time pass fast enough ...
Evening: Got picked up by a beautiful car for the ride home. He came just in time, too, as I was about to fall over with how much my feet hurt. I've been wearing heels all week and my feet are NOT happy with me. The car was a brand new Lincoln Navigator, red with a light leather interior. It had a THX stereo system, SIRIUS radio internally installed, a DVD player, the whole works. It was nice. I want one.
The car must have been a very recent purchase or a rental as it's keychain was just a wide wire ring with the key and a plastic case with a piece of paper in it describing the car.
The driver was handsome and well dressed — white shirt and olive slacks, dark hair and a goatee. He wore Oakley sunglasses and drank from an Evian water bottle. He obviously has money.
The radio was originally tuned to ESPN radio. It was a talk show with several men arguing over the current drama over Michael Vick. The argument was mostly over the fact that the law was too drastic considering the circumstances, that how a large black population is supporting him despite how heinous his crime was and he is being treated as harshly as he is because he is black. The man scoffed at the radio and changed it to country.
The driver never said a word to us (he picked up three). Instead, he drove down the HOV lane with his wrist and chomped on gum the entire time. The other two riders slept and I read again. The book got slightly boring, so I took to looking out the window.
Did you know that Virginia is one of the top states for vanity plates? I get a kick out of seeing them everywhere. Here are a few I saw today.
G80RSS — There were orange and blue stickers all over this green Honda Accord. The driver was older with a gray beard and glasses.
YUH8TIN — Black Mercury Mountaineer. The driver obviously thinks you're jealous of his hot wheels.
GA GIRLZ — Four girls in an old, silver BMW. They were all laughing when we passed them.
LVUBYE — My favorite. This was on a dark blue mini-van. The windows were tinted, so I couldn't see the family I assumed was in it. But the license plate this was on had an image of kids handprints in colorful paint. It just went so well with a family theme, I thought it was adorable.

Maybe tomorrow will produce something interesting.

Day Three

Today was a good day for me in the realm of slugging. I got to experience both sides of the coin ... read on ...

Morning: Got to the commuter lot a little later than I wanted today, which was not good as I had to be downtown earlier today than yesterday or the day before. My nerves calmed as I was immediately picked up once I arrived. I hopped in the passenger seat of a white Honda sedan and the Asian woman in blue scrubs who had been in line behind me jumped in back.
The driver was a VERY attractive man. He had dark brown hair combed forward in the popular style teenage boys like today and a closely trimmed beard. He had beautiful blue eyes and a great tan. Before anyone gets excited, he had a wedding ring and — as I later found out — three boys, two in college and one in high school. But he definitely did not look old enough to have kids that old ... Anyway ... He was dressed very casually — loose, long-sleeve, white collared shirt with khaki beach shorts (you know, the tattered ones you find already broken in at Abercrombie & Fitch) and brown flip-flops.
We first started talking about the weather, as most slugging conversations start (and usually end). It's nice and cool here as we've been having a few rainstorms here and there. I mentioned that when I left Missouri, it was in the 100s. He laughed and said, "I'm not dressed for this cool weather!" Believe it or not, it was kind of cold for what he was wearing. Then he told me he was actually on his way to the airport as he had business in Boise, Idaho, and it was in the mid- to high 80s there.
Our conversation stalled some after that. A few minutes passed before he asked me what I did at the Pentagon. I told him it was actually my halfway point as I took the Metro into D.C. He revealed that he used to make that trip as he used to work in the Senate. It was here our conversation turned to the much more interesting.
Mr. Driver was in the Marines for some time (never asked how long) and his final tour required him to be a bodyguard of sorts in the Senate. After he retired, he went back and became a permanent staff member. This job took him EVERYWHERE. He has met numerous heads of state, including the president of Afghanistan, and even got to meet Pope John Paul II. After that meeting, he came home with three pictures and a rosary blessed by the Holy See himself.
Now he works for an anti-terrorism group down in Fredricksburg, Va. He didn't reveal the name of the group, nor do I blame him. But I am curious as to what business in that area would call him to Boise ... *ponders*
We talked about his kids for some time. Once he found out I was still in college, he told me he had two in college as well. His oldest is a senior at Virginia Tech studying civil engineering. His 21st birthday is coming up in September. He is planning on going to law school and, unfortunately, has to take his LSAT the day after his birthday. His dad told me that he was surprised to learn that his son has not yet had a drink, but his 17 year old has. I don't know how much I believe the former, but I guess I can only take him at his word.
The middle child is the favorite. He is a sophomore computer engineering major at George Mason University. I guess since he doesn't cause much trouble, there wasn't much to say about him.
The youngest is 17 and a senior at Colonial Forge High School (only about 10 minutes from where I live). The family is districted for all kids to go to another high school in the area, but they put in a special request for him to go to school there because of their excellent wrestling program. The kids is one of the lightweight wrestlers and apparently has made the recent decision to not wrestle in college. This pisses Dad off as he knows that his son is worthy of a scholarship. Either way, they're both going to be in St. Louis in March for the wrestling championship.
He was curious as to how I ended up going to school in Missouri since I was eligible to go to any Florida school for almost nothing. I told him how my aunt had snuck me over to the campus when I was visiting the summer before my senior year of high school and I fell in love with it at first sight. After that, my mind was set.
We talked more about wrestling since I knew a good deal about Brandon High School (it was only fifteen minutes away from where i went to school). We both dislike their wrestling and shared our 'hate' stories. I told him was pretty involved with my high school wrestling team — was even dating one of them — and my father wrestled when he was younger, too.
By that point, we had reached the Pentagon. I thanked him for the ride and wished him a good flight to Boise.
Good ride.
Evening: Got to experience slugging from the other side today. One of my friends couldn't park his car in the city, so he offered to drive me home in exchange for allowing him to park his car at my house. Fine by me, but we wouldn't get home anytime soon if it was just the two of us as we wouldn't be allowed on the HOV. So I looked up where people from my lot would be slugging from Downtown. We found them and two ladies hopped into the car ... off we were!
From the start I told them this was a different experience for me as I was the one used to being picked up. They laughed when I told them I had only been slugging for two days — they have since the '90s.
They were great to talk to. Both of them were from Northern Virginia. One had honest-to-God lived there all her life, while the other was a military brat and moved around a lot, but has stayed in Virginia most of her adult life. One of the women worked in the accounting section of a lobbying agency and other for the Department of Homeland Security (before that came around, she was part of Customs and Border Patrol, we joked it was just renamed).
The conversation was everywhere. They shared a lot of stories about slugging and some tips for me for the future. Apparently, one woman's mother was part of the original group that started slugging back in the '80s, though it wasn't the system then as it is now. It was more like organized carpooling of strangers. This was back when the HOV lane was just an idea in someone's mind. It wasn't constructed until the early to mid-'90s.
They told me some horror stories from slugging, though they're not as bad as one might think. I was expecting accident stories or kidnapping or murder, instead, they told me how they caught a driver falling asleep at the wheel (almost an accident, but not quite) and how, once, the driver asked if anyone would mind if she would stop at a grocery store before dropping everyone off and left them to wait for her in the parking lot. Sucks, yes ... but definitely could have been worse.
We then started talking about marrying early and how one woman did and the other didn't and neither regret their decision. One has kids (the early married one) and the other doesn't, and they both are fine with that. It's funny how two people can live two completely different lives and each can be just as happy as the other. Just goes to show you don't have to be like other people who seem happy becuase you never know if they are or not ... just stick with what you are happy with and you'll be fine.
We chatted until we made it to the road where the commuter lot was. Conversation died then and it was quiet until we dropped them off. Still, it was a good ride. I love talking to people, which is why it's a shame when all they want to do is sit in silence. Hopefully tomorrow will be as good as today, though I'm not holding my breath.

Day Two

Morning: I got to the commuter lot at about 10 'til 7 a.m. this morning. There was a nice black woman already there waiting in line for a car to come pick her — us — up. She was wearing black slacks and a black sweater with gold embellishments on its shoulders. She had on black-rimmed, rectangular framed glasses and her hair was pulled back in a tight bun. As I approached, I double checked with her that this was the line for the Pentagon. She said yes and I admitted this was my second time slugging, so I wanted to make sure I was doing everything right. She laughed and said, "No worries. We've all been there, done that."
A silver Volvo was our ride to the Pentagon. It was disgustingly clean with a light leather interior. The driver was white and very well groomed. He had silvery hair that was either wet or gelled ... or both. He was wearing a white, long-sleeved collared shirt which was textured, not smooth like most shirts are. He had on a pinstripe suit, though the jacket was on a hanger behind his seat. A brown raincoat and a sandy brown leather bag were thrown onto the backseat next to me. There was a shelf of sorts behind the headrests of the backseat with picture frames on it, but they were face-down. Privacy, maybe? Not sure.
Someone in the car smelled nice ... or maybe it was the car itself. It was one of those scents that would work on a man or a woman ... or a car ...
The radio was tuned to WTOP, which is a news/traffic/weather station. This is the second time a car has been tuned to that station.
We got stuck in traffic, though traffic on Interstate 95 was backed up even further than the HOV lane. Again, for you global warmers, saw five hybrids in a row when I started paying attention. I ended up falling asleep while we were sitting in traffic and woke up, luckily, right as we were pulling off the highway.
He dropped us off at the drop point. We thanked him and, as I was throwing my bag over my shoulder, the woman said "Oh, Lord ... another day, another dollar." I said "Amen, sister" in reply and immediately felt like an idiot. She laughed nonetheless and it was off to the Metro for me.
Evening: I made it to the Pentagon somewhat early this evening, so I had to wait a while in line for a car to finally come around to pick me up. There were a few men in line before me, and a woman about my age in line after. A Ford truck and black Scion took the men before me. I was picked up by an older model green Volkswagen sedan — must have been early '90s, it was nice and boxy ... and manual. 50 Cent's "Disco Inferno" was blaring as I got in.
The backseat was packed with random stuff. There was a fleece jacket, umbrella (which isn't so random since it has been raining the past few days), magazines, CD cases and a laptop case on the floor behind the driver's seat. There was a black and white leopard print pillow on the center console — appears to be a fad to have pillows there.
The driver and the girl in the passenger seat seemed to know each other as he was laughing with her when I got into the car. They were dressed differently, though. The driver was black and young, wearing blue pants and a blue t-shirt with a darker blue ballcap. He had a beautiful smile and contagious laugh. He was nice and obviously liked talking as opposed to the awkward silence that some sluggers would rather prefer.
The woman was a petite brunette no older than 25 years old. She was wearing a black and white pinstripe suit. I got a look at her face when she turned around to talk to me — Her hair had red chunks in it, like she grabbed parts and stuck them in dye.
The driver offered me a Mentos, which I politely refused ... my stomach wasn't happy with me after having drinking coffee and eating a spicy soup for lunch. He asked if I wanted to listen to country music and then started laughing ... I think there was a joke I missed somewhere in those few seconds. I also declined saying I listened to too much of it over the summer. He laughed again and started joking with the girl in the passenger seat again.
We talked for the rest of our ride, our conversation revolving around cars and the whole idea of slugging. They asked if I was a regular slug and I told them today was only my second day doing so. Turns out they didn't really know each other in the sense that they were friends or worked together. Instead, she was a regular slug once and ended up with him one afternoon. They started talking about cars — a topic about which they were both passionate — then compared schedules and found out they go to work and return home at about the same times. They decided to ride together from then on and just pick up a third so they could use the HOV lane. Apparently, a lot of people do that ...

I've posted links relevant to slugging here on my blog in case anyone should want to read up on it. Wikipedia.org has a site describing slugging and the other sites are made specifically for D.C. sluggers. Have a look if you're interested!

First Day

Today was my first day of commuting to D.C. I was nervous as anything, but it turned out just fine.

Morning: I didn't have to be at the National Press Building until 9:30 a.m., but I made sure to leave the house by 6:45 a.m. to ensure I could get a parking spot. I parked and walked toward the carpooling lane. I was nervous as there was a line of cars waiting in one spot of the lane and a line of people waiting on another. I knew there were two separate lines — one for the Pentagon and one for D.C. — but I wasn't sure which was which. The first car sitting in line was a blue '80s model BMW, driver sitting and waiting with one passenger already in the back seat. I approached the driver's side to ask which line this was but he beat me to it.
"Pentagon?" he asked.
I must have been a little over-emphatic as I shouted "Yes!" and ran around the front of the car and hopped in the passenger seat because he was laughing at me when I got in.
"A little excited this morning, are we?"
I explained to him that he was the beginning of my new adventure that is commuting. He laughed again, put his car into gear (it was a manual) and we were off.
The driver was a white and obviously middle-aged as his skin was sagging slightly on his face and, even though he had a full head of hair, it was gray. He was wearing a long-sleeved collared shirt, a pretty sky blue which made up for how dreary the day was (though I'm not complaining, it was much cooler than it was two days prior).
The man in the back was wearing a black suit with a white collared shirt and yellow tie. He had a leather briefcase with him. He never said a word through the whole trip. All I heard from the back was him shuffling as he changed position from time to time.
One of the unwritten rules of slugging is all conversation should be initiated by the driver. Otherwise ... no talking. The driver and I talked the entire time. We first talked about the whole idea of "slugging" — how lots of people might think it's dangerous but, to those who do it, everyone is just trying to get to work ... no other agenda. We then talked about what I was doing in D.C. then about school. He mentioned he used to be in the Air Force and had two kids in high school, a daughter who is my age at James Madison Univeristy and a son at Florida State University. I groaned at the metion of a Seminole and he laughed adding that he understood ... he was a Miami fan, himself. I groaned again and told him, honestly, that I hated FSU and Miami football. They both play dirty. He just nodded his head as an acknowledgment of my opinion. We continued the conversation by discussing the current state of journalism. We talked about the Internet, the newspapers we liked to read — "I'm a centrist Democrat," he said. "I love my Washington Post." — and what the future of journalism might be.
In no time, we were at the Pentagon and it was time to depart. He wished me luck with my job and I thanked him for the ride. From there, I took the Metro into downtown and the day really began.
This man eased my nerves on my first time slugging and I will always appreciate it.
Evening: My ride home wasn't as eventful as the morning was. By 4:30 p.m., I was back at the Pentagon standing in line to slug back home. There were two men in line before me, so I knew it might be some time before I got into a car. For ten minutes we watched car after car drive past us and stop at other lines. At one point, the man at the front of the line — an older man in a beige polo and hunter-green slacks holding a restaurant's doggie-bag (probably left-overs from lunch) — turned to us and said, "Looks like we're invisible today." We chuckled and, not two minutes later, a tan Honda sedan came by and stuck two fingers up in the windshield. There went my friends. I stood alone for a few minutes before a handful of people walked up and joined the line.
A black Dodge sport utility vehicle came up, rolled down the passenger-side window and also asked for two riders. I hopped into the passenger seat and the man standing behind me got in the back seat. He seemed like a nice guy, though we didn't talk when we were standing in line. He was white, seemed young (late 20s, early 30s) wore a short-sleeved green polo and khaki shorts. I wished I could dress that casual — I was wearing a black top I bought yesterday with gray slacks and black heels that, by that time, were killing my feet.
The driver was an African American, also male and in the same age range as the man sitting behind me. He was wearing a long-sleeve white collared shirt and black slacks, though he had a white ballcap on. He said hi to us and that was all that was said until we were back at the lot.
The car was very lived-in. Made me believe he didn't help slugs much. He had a carseat in the back seat, there were cups and papers on the floor and stuffed into the pockets on the doors. There was a pillow pal dog resting on the center console. The driver used it as an elbow rest, but I doubt that is its original purpose.
Here's something that might make a global warming supporter feel better about the world. I cannot tell you how many hybrid cars I saw on the road — at least ten, and that's only when I was paying attention.

I got home safe and sound at 6 p.m. My first day of commuting done and I'm ready for tomorrow!

Introduction

Interstate 95 in any other area besides Washington, D.C., is a traveler's highway. To anyone inside or 50 miles out of the Capitol Beltway, it's hell. The only way to make the heavy traffic load during rush hour somewhat lighter is by group commuting — carpooling, riding the Metro, taking a shuttle ... and slugging.
Slugging is a commuting trait unique to Washington, D.C. It's pretty much organized hitchhiking. The Virginia Department of Transportation has built numerous commuter lots where those who need to get to the Pentagon or Downtown will park, stand in line for the respective destination and wait for someone to drive up, shout "Two for Downtown!," hop in and go. Sound dangerous? It's oddly not ... most of the people who drive and ride are businessmen or in the military. Most of them drive fancy cars and wear fancy suits or uniforms — they're the people you would feel comfortable approaching in the street.
Slugging costs nothing. Slugs actually save the driver money. By having at least three occupants in the vehicle, the driver is allowed to use the HOV (High Occupancy Vehicle) lane. It was built to encourage carpooling into the District and, during rush hour, you are not allowed on the lane unless there are at least three people in the car. Off rush hour, that changes. Numbers are enforced every once in a while by cops who sit at the exit points of the lane. They count the number of people in the car and will ticket you if you don't have at least three. Some people have tried to cheat the system by having inflatables ... I'm not lying.
As I am a poor college student living with my family while I'm working in D.C., slugging is my only option. Driving would cost too much and taking the Metro from the Pentagon is cheaper than from Franconia/Springfield. I will be riding with two different people each day every day until the end of my work project in December. I realized this is an amazing view into the middle-class world of commuting and have decided to write about all of my slugging experiences.
To some, this blog is pointless and useless. To others, this could turn out to be a great analysis of a prime demographic. Either way, it's going to be fun for me!
Enjoy and please comment if you think I am leaving out any details that might be more insightful!