DC Etiquette #13: Judge new people you meet solely based upon their education and profession.

This will probably come as a shock, but I don't get out much. I know, thank god everyone was sitting down for that plot twist.

Nevertheless, last weekend I graced the only yuppie friendly place to be seen for a night out in DC: U Street. Oh, what a corridor.

Now, here's some background for this tale: I was out with my college roommate and a good friend from college. I assure you that not one of us looks friendly or approachable, at least not on purpose. And in the event that one of us were to accidentally seem approachable, we stand in that fuck you girl triangle. Yeah, I do that. Surprise. The three of us huddled together in the bars as close as humanly possible so as to ward off any unwanted attention. I assure you this was not a ploy, my friends dislike other people as much as I obviously do.

Alas, the fuck you girl triangle can only hold up against so much. After a certain point, our triangle was penetrated (pun not initially intended but still funny) by a short bro wearing a button down plaid shirt with this winning line:

"Uh hey, what do you think of guys with tattoos?"

His extraordinary wit was met with blank stares. Then obnoxious responses from our unfriendly girl triangle:

My fat friend: Um, is it a tramp stamp?

My pretty friend: snorting and looking uncomfortably at the ground

Me: (pointing to my pretty friend) She's a tattoo artist.

After a bit of bottomless, not very funny, and pointless shitting around about my friend the tattoo artist and the gay hammer the plaid bro wanted tattooed on his chest, he asked one of the great DC questions:

"So, where do you guys go to school?"

Perhaps in any other part of the country, this could be seen as a harmless question. Or perhaps if the question had been posed to a less cynical DC hater, it would also be seen as harmless. But since I'm needlessly aggressive and easily irritated, it was with effort that I didn't openly growl at him. Instead, I actually told him I'd attended a tech school and was a welder. Regardless, I felt inclined to make shit up because I was drunk, and also because I'm tired of how the typical, meet someone new, DC conversation always goes:

Any random DC Douchebag: So where did you go to school?

Me: I went to Georgetown.

DD: Oh, so like, where do you work?

Me: I'm a waitress.

(I could tell people what my "real" job is, but it's so much more fun to watch the horrified reaction at the thought of a Georgetown degree not being used in a world where I run around and touch myself whenever I hear the melodious cacophony of my own voice, from atop my soap box, bullshitting about a political something or other, like how Sandra Fluke is a whore. No I'm just kidding. But really, Rush Limbaugh, have you seen this girl? Who'd seriously pay her to have sex? Your vitriolic attacks are baseless. Anyway...)

DD: ...and you went to GEORGETOWN?

Me: Yup.

DD: ...so like, are you in school now?

This question is now pointedly asked to see if I'm of any real value as a human being. The only excuse for being a waitress at this point in the conversation would be if I were in fact working toward a career goal. As it turns out, this is exactly why I have my adjunct job waiting tables, but I prefer to watch seersucker suited bros wig out when I act totally apathetic.

Me: Nope.

DD: Well... do you know what you want to do with your life?

Me: What do you mean? I'm a waitress.

Tangible discomfort.

DD: Um, oh...

God forbid we have a normal conversation, and try to find out about the fun things I like to do with my life. Like talk about food, or shitting, or the Hunger Games. I mean, I'm a pretty complex individual, right?

Of course, this conversation can also kick off with "where do you work?" and not "where do you go to school?", which happened later that night when we were approached by the 30 year old version of this stud:

When he asked the "so, where do you work?" question, I was immediately overwhelmed with a series of inappropriate jokes to make at the cost of his ethnicity. Curry jokes, Pakistani terrorist jokes, 7Eleven worker jokes. Hell, I nearly just shouted "One medium coffee, cream and sugar. Multigrain bagel toasted with cream cheese," at him, but he was approximately 6'5" and I didn't want to anger AQ Khan's firstborn, you know?