I used to think I knew tourists when I lived in South Florida. Nope, South Florida tourists have nuthin' on the Washington, D.C. ones. All they wanted in Florida was surf and sun, and other than the beach, you'd rarely run into them as a native.
Well, they clog the streets of D.C. and more importantly, the Metro. Several things drive me bonkers. Of course, the standing on the left thing that everyone dreads. The pole hugging. The hogging of the machines that operate the Smart Cards, leaving the regular fare card machines lonely. But what really drives me batty: the abrupt stop after entering or exiting the gate so that you trip over yourself not to ram into them. Ditto the abrupt stop at the bottom (or top) of the escalator.
Last night, as I raced to meet S at Union Station for a very important engagement, I groaned as I descended the Dupont Metro escalator at Q Street. Down below me, moving into the bowels of the tunnel was a clogged cluster. Someone must have been pushy, because it cleared up before I reached. As I passed the shorts-clad folks on the right, I heard a white bearded man say to a younger one, "Must be a local custom."