Rumsfeld and the Commute

Let me paint a little picture of my morning commute for you: I'm late, listening to the soundtrack from "South Pacific" on my headphones, and speed walking down Connecticut Avenue to the Dupont Circle Metro. I'm not hyper alert to my surroundings, but am instead focused on whether I can catch the right traffic lights to optimize my commute time. It's hard to break that focus.

But broken it was today by one Donald Rumsfeld, former Secretary of Defense. Was he in a car? No. Was he surrounded by a lot of people? No, only one tan-suited man. Was I about to brush past him and his friend just as another person coming up the hill said "Good morning Mr. Rumsfeld"? Yes.

Then I turned to look, and indeed it was Donald Rumsfeld. I wasn't starstuck. He's not Madeline Albright for heavens sake, or even Hilary Clinton (not endorsing or apologizing for her, but I'm just saying...she has her moments of greatness, and I still haven't seen her... maybe now that she'll be back in town). No, The incident wasn't exciting exactly, it was just... strange.

I've lived in D.C for almost a year now (it will be exactly a year on the 29th of June), and I've gotten used to government celebrity sightings. Dick Cheney, his Secret Service detail, and his 28 car entourage regularly cross my path on the way home from work, George Bush seems to think the Hilton by my house is the greatest place to have breakfast meetings, and walking past members of Congress is not all that surprising in the hallways of Senate and House office buildings (although it still does get me a little excited!). But this was the most affecting sighting yet. It's strange almost not recognizing someone who is so present in history, and especially someone who is vilified like Rumsfeld is. Perhaps my reaction was magnified because I'm currently reading a book about the horrible mess in Iraq.

In any case, if you are in D.C. watch out: Donald Rumsfeld is walking the streets without a security detail, and you might just run over him on the way to metro.

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