A group of Chilean miners wander through the crowded city streets, weaving in and out of busy bars teeming with life. Dance floors pulse with vibrant energy as angels, demons, schoolgirls, nurses, cops, pirates, robots, ninjas, and more soak up the music. Catwoman chats up a group of X Men in the corner while Chuck Norris debates the physics of jump kicks with Ramona Flowers. As Ryu and Rocky arm wrestle at the bar over who gets to buy the lovely Samus a drink, Mario does the funky chicken to the delight of a group of Care Bears while Sonic watches in silence. Elsewhere, the Planeteers square off against a collection of Power Rangers and Ninja Turtles, led by the fearsome Cobra Commander. The Cheat, unfortunately, was grounded during a lightswitch rave.
Welcome to Halloween in the District.
This year, the night best known for costumed carousing was amplified a thousandfold due thanks to sharing the same weekend in D.C. as the Stewart/Colbert rally and the Marine Corps marathon. It’s a night both surreal and predictable, and the party atmosphere lasts long into the morning hours.
Flash forward to 3am. Bars start to close down and usher the costumed crowd into the streets, choking any eateries still open and immediately filling any taxis in the area to capacity. On one street corner stands a biker, a scientist, and two hippies desperately trying to hail a cab. None of the taxis have their fare lights on, preferring instead of roll slowly down the busy streets with the windows down, asking people where they’re trying to go and selecting only the most convenient fares. This, as the biker and his friends soon realize, makes it difficult for anyone trying to get out of the city to secure a ride.
45 minutes and dozens of cabs later, the biker finally lowers his outstretched arm and cracks his knuckles. The scientist and one of the hippies are huddled close together on a bench for warmth, and the other hippie is shivering quietly into the biker’s leather jacket nearby. Fingerless gloves do little to keep hands warm, and as he blows on freezing fingers he glances at his cell phone. 4am. The subway system opens early that morning, at 5am, thanks to the Marine Corps marathon. Deciding it would be easier to deal with Metro than to actually find a taxi at this point, he ushers the group to a nearby McDonald’s to wait out the final hour.
The McDonald’s is already nearly full with an eclectic mix of people in various stages of undress. Loose or uncomfortable costume components have been abandoned en masse, and most of the tables are filled with people too impaired (chemically, physically, or both) to do anything else. The biker guides his friends to a booth and takes their orders, and leaving them there he heads to the sprawling line.
Everyone in line is in the same situation of being the most capable member left in their group, a dubious claim best illustrated by the chain gang near the front of the line picking a fight with three sorority girls “because one was Chinese”. This goes over about as well as you might expect with a mixed crowd of tired, inebriated people, and the aftermath of the shouting match resulted in one fewer chain gang occupying the building, which put the biker that much closer to the front of the line.
Having bought enough food to justify occupying a booth, the group waits until the clock strikes 5am and shambles sleepily over to the nearest Metro station. By 6am all are home, and our heroes immediately fall into a blissful slumber.
To be awakened precisely 5 hours later, by a friend who stayed in the night before.
“So…,” he announces, poking at his groggy companions mercilessly with a wooden spoon, “who wants pancakes?!”
Mistopia: Post-Collegiate America 