America has a strange way of choosing its capital cities. All across the world, government seats are shining bastions of culture, wealth, and power. All citizens look to these cities as trendsetting locales to be admired, to be emulated. In Europe, cities like Rome and Paris seem to define the country, while in Central America they name whole countries for their capital.
So what the fuck is up with America? Tallahassee is a shithole compared to the paradise of cocaine and well-rounded butts that is Miami. Did anyone even know there are other cities in Nevada besides Vegas and Reno? Oh, you know, just the capital, Carson City. And which wig-wearing, British-hating, all about “men being created equal” while being cool with owning men as property, hypocrite motherfucker decided that Washington D.C. would be the capital of the burgeoning United States, rather than Philadelphia or New York?
Memorial to….Daniel Day Lewis or a vampire hunter, I think.
If you think about it, it’s a strange choice. It’s almost like Americans still embody that colonial, War of Independence, guerrilla warfare mentality. In the days when the odds were stacked overwhelmingly against the dudes in three-corner hats who really just wanted some goddamn representation, Americans had to be clever. This meant hiding in the trees, aiming for the officers, and ambush…errday. So why not lure the enemy to attack some shithole instead of the shining prizes of New York or Boston? Extra, extra!: “Previously unknown swamp proclaimed new capital of the United States of America and named after Fearless Leader, plus a few random letters.”
Inevitably, the inhabitants of such a decoy city, like Washington D.C., are as shitty as the environs from which they originate. The steamy weather, urban blight, and general frustration of living in an impoverished area surrounding a tiny island of wealth, power, and privilege, all add up to churn out some capital-sized assholes. Get your panties unruffled, Washingtonians. For fuck’s sake your mayor in the 90s was convicted of smoking crack! Not even an expensive drug! Crack!
The Amish come here for the crack (but they use matches, not lighters)
I had left my native Mexico City and decided to visit the American capital, assuming that this place was THE place to visit, after New York of course. My stay was going to be long because I was looking for a job. A government job, racists. I had a work visa…..not all Mexicans become dishwashers! I got a room in a hostel and used it as home base to look for housing, and also for building a social network from scratch. I had no friends or family in this foreign land, but hey, I’m a talkative, friendly guy. I was sure to meet somebody.
This was more of a daunting task than I expected. Each night I would leave the hostel premises and step out on the wide boulevards and trudge in the sweltering humidity to a bar, being watched silently by monuments dedicated to genocidal generals that were fittingly shit all over by pigeons, just like these long-dead men shit all over the Native Americans.
All D.C. looks like this
It was not difficult to strike up conversations. D.C. is a very black/white city, so seeing a Latino meant “Where are you from?” was a common question. We would drink, chat, carouse, with me getting an aural crash course in groups such as OutKast and Bone Thugz by way of the blasting music.
Conversation would be anything from playful joking to talking about our jobs and home. Anything to alleviate the homesickness I felt while momentarily stunning all baseline emotions with the cheapest liquor I could order, given that I had barely a dime to my name. Ever heard of Velicoff vodka? Pray to the Almighty that you may never know it. It probably surpasses heart disease as the number one killer of homeless men aged 18-65.
Oh goody!
Hell, sometimes we would go pick up some girls to dance. My new friend (AKA the guy I just met there), Lawrence, would suddenly become my college roommate from back in the day, and we would prattle off invented anecdotes of our youth. “There was that one time when me and Lawrence brought a hose to a July BBQ and ended up spraying everyone including the grill and putting the coals out completely”, or “Remember the last time we were here when you failed your Chem final and you really needed a drink?” Anything to impress.
Quite honestly it was mostly Lawrence telling the fibs because I had some moral objections. Actually, the reason I don’t lie is because you must continue to tell lies to legitimize the original one. It was hard enough for me to explain away my accent, and how I had come from Mexico 10 years ago (and not 10 days ago), and how my parents had split up (when they were really still together) and how I had come here with my mother who still lives in……shit, SHIT, I would try to remember the Metro map…..uhhh, Silver Spring, Maryland.
What a pain in the ass. But Lawrence would like to spin these fanciful, ever more fantastic stories, and I would hustle like a drone in an anthill, struggling to construct frail supports for the tunnels, as Lawrence burrowed deeper.
Eventually we would dance a little, invite the girls for a drink, then at some point we would exchange numbers, and they would go off on their way. Lawrence and I would share a congratulatory handshake, and a drink on whoever’s turn it was to buy next.
By this time, it would be fairly late already, and the time would come to part ways. It was always difficult to ask a guy for his number, and most of the time I wouldn’t. Too weird. “Alright Lawrence, job well done today. I’ll see you around.” Then he said, “Yea good times, man….Hey, take my number down. We should kick it.” So I did, happy at how smoothly that had transpired, and happy to have saved face. Time to go home.
“Hey wait,” Lawrence said as I turned to go. “Hit me up when you need some weed. I got good deals, $50 for an ounce and $15 for a gram. Don’t forget, OK?” Thus his night-long, cleverly-planned sales pitch came to an end. All he wanted was a client.
Over the few months, before i just decided to go home, I didn’t make a single friend. But I met plenty of Lawrences.
Lesson learned: People have a way of seeming genuine when they want to make a quick buck. Keep an eye out, or you’re gonna get used.
–Jose (34), Mexico D.F., Mexico, considering drug use to meet friends in Washington D.C.