Last night, Sara and I met for dinner at Zaytinya. We had a lot of catching up to do, and damn was that place packed. I don’t go to the Chinatown / MCI Center ‘hood often, so I was sort of surprised to see it teeming with singles. We waited 45 minutes for a table, then proceeded to order a bevy of entrees that were smaller than my pinky nail but more expensive than a haircut. Okay, it wasn’t that bad. But it was close.
We were trying to get a read on what was up at the bar. Usually when I end up at a place downtown, it’s filled with tourists and therefore not a good sampling of who would really be here. But I think in this case, they were D.C. locals. A lot of guys in suits and girls with fake boobs. Now, Sara and I are pretty damn personable, even if I do say so myself, but I could swear there was an air of stuffiness in there. I’m not married to that idea yet, still have to mull it over, but it seemed like the kind of crowd where you could bump into someone by accident and end up getting a bunch of dirty looks.
At one point in the evening, I received a call from my college roommate who said she was in town just for the night. I called her when I dropped Sara off and she said she was at the Hyatt in Bethesda. This isn’t very far from me at all, but it was 11:00 and Sara and I had just finished a bottle of wine and then some, so I wasn’t sure this was the best idea. But my college roommate was only in town for one night, then she unleashed the big guns on me.
“Look. They messed up my reservation and they gave me the Presidential Suite. You have got to come up here just to see it.” And with that, I was in the car.
When I got in the elevator at the hotel, I was making faces in the mirror to see how my Bell’s Palsy was doing. (Coming along, thanks for asking.) Then I realized of course that the elevators were all glass and the whole lobby could see me. Granted there were only three people in the lobby, but still. As the floors clicked away, bringing me higher and higher, I felt like the biggest fraud – like the brakes were going to come on and say, “Get out here, we don’t take your type past the 3rd floor.”
This room of hers was ridiculous. She had her own patio (bigger than my condo) that overlooked downtown Bethesda. The hotel staff told her that “only Presidents stay in the Presidential suite” so we felt pretty important. Truth be told, once you close your eyes, it could just as soon have been a Motel 6, but it was still nice to see.
It was night of phony locations. That’s all I have. Sorry. A little boring today.