The Aftermath of My Trip to Washington (not Ms. Smith Goes to Washington)

Ever since I attended a rally in Washington at the end of October, my life has been altered considerably, and not for the better. People treat me like trash in my home town of 30 years. An irate patron called me out in my local Starbucks who demanded that I leave the store, the reasons for which remain unclear.

I wrote a detailed 9 page essay on the experiences I had leading up to the trip, the trip itself and its lengthy aftermath of exile. Here are some excerpts from the story:

I wanted to see some of Washington before I went to the rally. I didn’t think I’d get too close to the rally, anyway. I was dressed in what I thought was an innocuous rock and roll outfit, leather and lace, trying to imitate the Stones. But at this point in history, the Stones are too dangerous. Even I felt that as I put on the clothes, the leather vest I got at Trash and Vaudeville, the jewelry from Chico’s, and the leather jacket. I stuck out. No shrinking violet.

I ended up at the “VIP Tent” of “The Rave” of the rally, where I was given a wrist band and encouraged to partake of consumer goods (which now, in the light of day, I see were sponsors of the rally).

But I wasn’t a sponsor of the rally. I was unwittingly enrolled as its "colorful character", a role I didn’t know I was playing and it was extremely taxing. After absorbing some more negative energy from the crowd even within the “VIP Area” while trying to dance to some great bands, I wandered off to try to find Union Station and get the hell back to NY. I already missed my 8pm train and had no hotel room. No one could or would help me. I approached many people on the street. It wasn’t funny anymore.

Needless to say, I was poorly treated and very frightened. The rest of the essay will be available soon. To whomever let me go “viral” and spread rumors about my “nastiness”, there is a special place reserved for you and it’s not in the skybox at Yankee Stadium.