It was a gorgeous Saturday, the kind that just makes you want to be out and about. My roommate and I were volunteering at Taste of Georgetown, a gathering of 30 restaurants from Georgetown to raise money for the Georgetown Ministry Center. It was the perfect day to be outside chilling with good people and helping out a good cause.
We left with plenty of time to get to Georgetown, but we experience unexpected difficulties. At one of the first stops along the Circulator route, a bus to Georgetown, the doors would not close. It was bizarre to say the least. The would get to a certain point and then open all the way again instead of closing.
Suddenly the rumble of the engine stopped. The bus went silent. Everyone was looking around and looking to the front of the bus to the driver. He tried starting it a few times, but it wouldn't go. I sat there remembering why I ride my bike to my internship in Georgetown.
Finally the bus started again. I looked down at my watch. We should make it about right on time I thought. But then the driver had to stop the bus at every stop to make the doors close. The stops took long enough as it was since there were so many people headed for Taste of Georgetown, but having to stop the bus was just like the cherry on top of a bad bus ride. Luckily we made it to Georgetown only a few minutes late, and the volunteer organizer had built in time for people to be late.
The ride back after the event was like pandemonium as well. It was like a giant rush of people all pushing their way on as if the driver would close the door and leave them. I was reminded why I love riding my bike to Georgetown, so many people all going to the same place makes public transportation crazy. Georgetown's just so popular.
In the last month of DC living, I'm coming up with more questions than answers. I'm especially perplexed on my walk to and from walk three days a week. I walk for 50 minutes each way down a busy street that goes from a major subway/bus stop to new condominiums and then into the business district where I intern at the Examiner.
Through my first two weeks of work I had my iPod set on anything containing hip hop. It made me walk with a purpose and feel like I was on top of the world. This last week I deleted about 90 percent of that genre from my iTunes and iPod. The message of the music was just destroying me. Nothing was being said. I was getting the idea, and have been for years of listening to this stuff, that life is all about me and what I can do and how far I can get. I deleted the music as a reaction to what I was seeing around me. All around me, in the handful of parks I pass on my commute, there are homeless folks camped out at every single one, every single day. They study me as I walk by, bopping my little head to the beat in my headphones. I wonder what they think of me... "She's just like every other person that's ever walked by and looked straight ahead, focused on herself and where she's going (in life."
And here I thought I was so mysterious and special.
I've been in DC for only one month, but suddenly I must look like an expert. On my way to and from my internship I got asked fourtimes how to get places. I counted myself as lucky since I was aquainted with the places I was asked about.
I was in Union Station heading up the escalator to the Circulator bus when I woman asked me how to get to E street. "What?" I asked halfway up the escalator and with her standing on the floor calling up to me. I wasn't the only person in the station why she was chosing to ask me at that moment was beyond me. I started walking down the up escalator to give the woman directions. "Here let me ride up with you," she said and suddenly some strange woman was riding the escalator up with me while I waved my hands around pointing and directing the woman. When we got to the top of the stairs though I realized all my crazy arm waving was for naught because she still didn't even know how to get out of the building. To say the least I was disapointed.
On the bus three women laughed jovially and talked about how glad they were to be in DC. Then one of them spoke up and said, "Did any of you pay attention to that map we looked before we got on this bus to see what stop to get off at to go to Georgetown?" None of them had and thenhad terrified looks on their faces. I asked where they were trying go in Georgetown to which they answered they just wanted to shop. "Just follow me then I am getting off in Georgetown." The women were extremely grateful but I realized ten minutes later when I got off the bus the ladies weren't following me. I called to them, "Hey this is Georgetown" to which they jumped up startled and said, "We just got so into talking we forgot we had to get off the bus to get to Georgetown." I smiled and directed them to some good shopping places. I felt like I'd failed once again.
I finally understand why they call it service learning instead of just service.
Food and Friends is an organization in Washington, DC that feeds specialized, nutritious meals and groceries to people living with life-challenging illnesses such as HIV/AIDS, cancer and diabetes. The services are free of charge.
First thought? I have to be up with the roosters. Second thought? Wait, there’s a shuttle?
This place is impressive. Every aspect of this organization from the punctuality of the staff, to the accessibility of transportation, to everyday tasks works better than clockwork.
At first the tasks appeared routine and gave me as much of a rush as any assembly line could. Then I looked up and began reading all of the thank you letters written and illustrated by children and the children of individuals who rely on the service Food and Friends provide. Blown up pictures of chefs who dedicated their time to cooking massive amounts of specialized food, volunteers working hard day in and day out and people actually receiving the food, hung from the ceiling.
Goosebumps.
My initial feeling was ashamed. I was entirely too focused on getting the “experience” that I was missing the impact of what I was doing. Just because I’m not listening to the testimonials of the people we are affecting doesn’t mean they don’t exist. After all seeing isn’t always believing right?
The next place of service learning I found in the urban Southeast of DC at a place called Cornerstone School. This day I was prepared with a real understanding of true service and a mindset to make a difference no matter how mundane the tasks may be.
But things never go according to plan—a lesson I keep forgetting along with the lesson that things aren’t always what they seem. These clichés are sadly the best way to convey what I gathered from my time at Cornerstone.
Pumped and metro card in hand we boarded the bus. On our way off the bus an unfortunate misstep caused my shoe to ripe clean apart rendering it impossible to wear functionally.
"Dad, I’m at Germantown Parkway and Kirby. How do I get to Collierville? Left or right?”
This summarizes my driving experience of the last five years. I am what my father likes to call “directionally challenged.” While I would like to think of myself as intelligent, I simply do not pay attention to where I am going if I am not driving; therefore, when it comes my turn to get to a destination on my own, I am out of luck. Also, I am unfortunately not blessed with a mental compass that always knows which way is north.
I have survived thus far in large part thanks to my dad’s uncanny ability to memorize the map of Memphis, Tenn. Anytime I am anywhere, he knows how to get me to where I need to go. I feel very safe driving around my hometown, not because I know exactly where everything is but because Dad does.
I’m not a huge fan of change. I like routine; sort of knowing what’s coming in a general sense. In short, NOT living on the edge.
Therefore, coming to Washington, D.C. made me a little nervous, but stepping out and trying new things is an important part of life, right? So I packed my bags and journeyed forth to lovely Washington, D.C., the home of the nation’s capital, beautiful monuments, fascinating museums and lots of joggers.
When I arrived in D.C. I had to start getting used to my new surroundings. This is always tough for me to do. There were lots of new people, a new living arrangement, new ways of getting around, etc. And, of course, lots of learning. So here is a little bit of what I’ve learned so far:
Transportation in the city is different from anything I’ve ever experienced before. The streets in Washington appear to have been laid out with the express purpose of frustrating drivers and endangering the lives of pedestrians. It’s odd when the most convenient way of getting around involves being shot through underground tunnels at alarming speeds. But that’s the beauty of the Metro and I think it works out pretty well.
We're informed time and time again, as new students studying abroad in DC, to be aware of our surroundings and watchful of our friends. Here at the Washington Journalism Center, we were even give special tips by our DC-experienced alumni, like never listen to your iPod or talk on your cell phone when your out and about, always look like you know where your going, and...to be ready to run.
One of the things we emphasize at the Washington Journalism Center is the degree to which Washington, D.C. is two cities. There's Washington -- the home of government pomp and power that rides the metrorail from power center to power center; and there's DC -- the home of crime and generational poverty that rides the metrobuses from neighborhood to neighborhood.
And is there a cultural-racial divide? You'd better believe it:
» More than half of Metrobus riders are black, Latino or Asian/Pacific
Islander. But only a quarter of Metrorail riders are such racial or
ethnic minorities.
» Education levels vary, with 80 percent of rail riders having at least
a college degree compared with 59 percent of Metrobus riders.
Similarly, the median income of Metrorail riders is $102,110, while
Metrobus riders earn a median $69,620 annually.
And do the two mix? Sometimes. And it's grand when it happens. But this divide is in the background of the brilliant story by the Washington Examiner last week. There's a budget shortfall in Metro and where were the suggested cuts? The bus system. Here's a breakdown on the proposed changes:
I've lived in Washington DC long enough to see that it is, as the saying goes "Two Cities." There's Washington: that famed center of pomp and power connected by the metro; and DC the land of crime and generational poverty connected by the bus lines. In an essay by one of my students this past semester, he said that Washington was divided "if not racially, at least socially." And I think that's fair. Living off Anacostia on the green line is very different than living off DuPont Circle on the red line. They may as well be two cities.
But I do believe that sometimes the city is one. There's two things we all have in common here in DC: that were all different and we're all here. Maybe that's enough.
A few weeks back, I was on the yellow line headed from Columbia Heights to Chinatown. And I saw something that's stuck with me.
I think tight airport security is a necessary evil, but if passengers are jumping through hurdles by practically declothing themselves to get to their flight, how come FAKE bombs in carry-ons are being missed at airports such as Los Angeles International Airport (LAX) and O'Hare?
In a recent article by U.S.A. Today recent article, Los Angeles International airport screeners have missed 75% of hidden bomb materials that were hidden in normal carry-ons and Chicago's O'Hare missed 60%. 75% at LAX and 60% at Chicago's O'Hare.
Even though these two airports and San Francisco International were only case studies for the U.S. screening system, if this is failure rate gets any higher, I don't think I will be the only one not trusting my airport's security.
I recently endured a carry-on bag check coming back to Washington, D.C., from Lambert airport in St. Louis when a screener detected "aerosol" in my backpack. It was TAG deodorant spray. What they didn't know is what if I had "inert explosives" inside my MP3 player or my digital voice recorder that the airport handler clearly went over about 2 or 3 times.
Some of the explosives that were carried by undercover agents posing as passengers consisted of "bomb residue on shoelaces, detonator and explosives hidden in briefcase lining, inert explosives inside CD players, and the list goes on...."
Bruce Schneier: People regularly point to security checkpoints missing a knife in their handbag as evidence that security screening isn't working. But that's wrong. Complete effectiveness is not the goal; the checkpoints just have to be effective enough so that the terrorists are worried their plan will be uncovered. But in Denver earlier this year, testers sneaked 90% of weapons through. And other tests aren't much better. Why are these numbers so poor, and why didn't they get better when the TSA took over airport security?
Kip Hawley: Your first point is dead on and is the key to how we look at security. The stories about 90% failures are wrong or extremely misleading. We do many kinds of effectiveness tests at checkpoints daily. We use them to guide training and decisions on technology and operating procedures...Of course there are times that our evaluations can generate high failure rate numbers on specific scenarios. Overall, though, our ability to detect bomb components is vastly improved and it will keep getting better.
Improving? Whatever Hawley. In 2002, a report on TSA tests said that screeners missed 24% of fake bombs, dynamite, and guns. Failure rates, specifically at LAX and O'Hare, more than doubled over the past five years rather than "improved."
This deleted "Friends" scene embodies what American airport security has become and how anal checking somebody's carry-on can and has to be.
I wonder what the future holds for airlines and for their passengers. Instead of weapons and bombs being detected at airports, could it be our behavior?
