Hard Culture

Wifey and I are loving our CULTURAL experience out here in Washington D.C. Take the first full-day here, for example. We left the Barlow Center (for BYU interns), and headed to go to the office where I would be sworn into my internship for the Department of Homeland Security. I remember walking past Dupont Circle, with both of us smiling big and Wifey turned to me and said, "You just belong in this city." (Aah shucks.) Then, after following our Google Map output for ten more blocks, we realized that there weren't any Federal-looking buildings around. Where are we?
It was at thist point that I realized that my beautiful new bride, who had been so helpful to get me walking directions from the Barlow Center, had done so by copying and pasting the following into the Google Map:

6333rd St. NW, Washington D.C.


"There is no 6333rd St. here," the woman whom we asked help from said. "It must be a misprint." (Looking back, I think if that address were to exist, it would lie somewhere in Maine.) After realizing this, I thought the best bet would be to get to 3rd St., like eight blocks away. "We'll take a bus," I thought.

So we found one that went to 3rd St. At this point we we're kind of in, to be politically correct, a different part of town. We get on the bus and we realize that we do not have correct change or an appropriate card method of payment. The bus driver, after realizing that we would probably stand there awkwardly for a while, motioned us on the bus.

After a few moments on the bus, Wifey and I experienced what happens when culture mixes with (what was likely) hard liquor--"hard culture." A man got on the bus and immediately began yelling at me with heavily slurred ebonix and explitives, probably because I was white. Many of his friends and people surrounding him told him to calm down, and assured me that he would be alright. But when I made out from the yells, "I'm in your head son!", I wasn't so sure and really wanted to be off the bus.

Luckily, the bus driver came to the rescue, again. He threatened to throw him off the bus. The man calmed down, and we were able to get off at the next stop. Shortly after, Wifey asked me if I felt like a pioneer. I kind of did. A pioneer on the frontier of hard culture.