Long overdue for a reprieve from the purgatory that is small-town New Jersey, I spent the past weekend in the DC metro area with some of the people I love the most.

Being back on the East Coast certainly has its benefits - namely, being able to make an easy 4-hour drive to DC (as opposed to having to take a much more costly plane ride).  I invited my friend and brother Quincy to ride down with me from New Jersey since his parents live in NoVa.  Turns out he had a photo shoot to do in DC over the weekend and he was due for a visit.  Sweet.

Quincy met me at the New Brunswick train station.  I was hoping he’d be able to avoid a train transfer in Newark, but no dice - he still had to transfer train lines.  Now I realize I should have asked him to meet me at a station closer to my house to simplify my end of the trip since it would have taken him the same number of transfers and time.

It was great to have his company on the way down.  We talked about music, Cartoon-gate (the NY Post editorial cartoon melodrama), and about how he would convince his parents that no, he’s not really sick - “it’s just allergies.”  (But Q. was really, really sick.  Poor thing.  Shh, don’t tell him I told.)

Once on the road, I realized that I had forgotten two very important things: 

1. Undies, 2 pair.
2. There are tolls, and lots of them.

(Will later asked me, “How do you forget to pack underwear, Kendall? That’s the first thing you pack!”  Okay, well, it clearly is not the first thing I packed.  I packed a bath towel first, so nyah.)

The undies would be easy enough to replace.  (Once in Northern Virginia, I simply bought a pack of cute Joe Boxer women’s undies at a K-Mart I was passing by.)  But the tolls?  Hmm.  Those could be problematic.

The first toll wasn’t bad - it was somewhere along the NJ Turnpike, if I recall correctly.  Just a few dollars.  But then came another toll, and another.  There was a toll to get over the Delaware Bridge and yet another toll just a ways into Maryland.  I emptied my pockets and saw that I was running low on cash.  (It was quite amazing that I’d had cash in the first place, as I rely on my debit card for virtually all purchases.)

At the toll plaza just inside Maryland, I asked the cashier, “How many more tolls are there between here and DC?”

“Just one - in Baltimore,” she replied.  And how much would it be?  “Four dollars.”

Shit. I only had $2.75 left.  Quincy?  “I spent the last of my cash on my cold medicine at the rest stop.”  Shit!  It was imperative that we hit up an ATM before reaching Baltimore.  I did not want to be at that toll booth without enough money.  I’ve been in that situation before, and it’s not fun.  (Thanks, Pittsburgh!)

Enter Elkton, MD.  The good old navigation system said there was a Bank of America ATM a few miles off of I-95, so that became the new destination.  Turned out that the ATM was much further away than it initially seemed.  That’s okay; a grocery store would do - anyplace I could make a small purchase to get cash back.

Meanwhile, in DC, a happy hour for George Mason alumni was going down at a club.  The original plans put us in DC by 10 o’clock, so I was expected to be able to come through.  Several folks I wanted to see were there and were texting me - “where r u?”

“In Elkton, MD, looking for an ATM.”

“Ur ridiculous.”  True that.

A rather long detour yielded a grocery store in Elkton that was open.  I bought some crackers, got $40 back in cash, and we made our way back to I-95.  Around that time, Quincy’s dad, who was going to pick him up at a Metro station in DC, called wanting to know when we’d arrive.  “About 11:10,” he told him.   (11:10?  Really, Q?  Baltimore was an hour from DC, and we hadn’t even hit Baltimore yet.  I knew there was no way we’d make it to DC by 11:10.  No.  Way.)

When we finally hit the Baltimore tunnel, the sign read, “TOLL: Cars - $2.00.”  Great. We lost almost an hour of travel time looking for $1.75 that was ultimately not needed.  Thanks, lady.

We got into DC a little after midnight.  I dropped Q. off at the Chinatown Metro station so he could meet his dad and drove over to the club where the happy hour was going on.  One lucky DC parking spot and quick costume change later - I chucked my Adidas Sambas for the black leather pumps in my suitcase - Will and I hit up the club so I could say hi to friends who were just leaving to go home.  All too brief hellos, hugs, and goodbyes, but still great to see them.

Last stop of the night: the famous Ben’s Chili Bowl.  “Hopefully the line isn’t out the door,” said Will.  Turns out, it wasn’t.  The line merely swung around twice inside the restaurant.  It was 1 a.m., I was starving, and there was a chili burger with my name on it.  I was willing to wait in the line.  A sign posted behind the counter made me laugh:

THE ONLY PEOPLE WHO EAT FREE:
BILL COSBY
THE OBAMAS

– and underneath “THE OBAMAS” was handwritten “BUT THEY PAID!”

“Wanna split some cheese fries?”  I asked.

“Yeah, that’s perfect.”

Felt like I’d never left.