The surreality of living in DC

I just got off a Metro train that, among the usual scaff and raff of us, contained one tidily-dressed gentleman whose uniform shirt quietly proclaimed him to be a U.S. Marshall Service Bomb Specialist.

Sometimes it is just deeply weird living here.


  1. I didn’t know they had bomb specialists. I would have guessed when they needed them, they got them from another agency.
    .-= Marilee J. Layman´s last blog ..Mindhunters (my first title: Mindkillers) =-.

  2. Eeeek!

  3. He didn’t really give me an “eeky” feeling, Kimberly – he was definitely giving off a “just going to the office” vibe (which, yeah – for a bomb specialist, I know – sounds weird, but…). He had his laptop bag and that zoned-out commuter face.

    Bomb specialists: just like us!

  4. That’s just what’s eek-y to me! I don’t want them commuting on the train like us! I want to live in a world where they have to be flown in on a special chopper, because what they do is so rarely needed that there are only a few of them, and they live nowhere.

    You know, like on Criminal Minds.

  5. Ah – see, I was thinking you thought it eek-y because if he’s going to work, clearly there’s a bomb that needs defusing… nearby.

    But hey – if a bomb specialist spends 99 (or even 100) percent of his career pushing paper, I’m okay with that.

  6. I met the parents of one of my daughter’s roommates over the weekend, and they were talking about their son’s new top secret job at Fort Meade, not far from DC (and us) in MD. Of course the only operations at Fort Meade are the US Army and the NSA. And they pointed out their son is NOT in the Army. So…what’s so secret?


    Seriously, I know. The fetish for secrecy is pretty funny.