In San Juan Capistrano, it’s the swallows.
In Hinckley, it’s the buzzards.
And in South West DC, it’s the tourists at the Bureau of Engraving and Printing.
South West, the area in which I work, doesn’t have much to recommend itself in terms of restaurants. But in our own special way, we’re a tourist mecca.
Jefferson Memorial? It’s ours.
The U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum? It’s ours.
The U.S. Department of Agriculture Cafeteria? It’s ours.
But the crown jewel as far as crowds go is the Bureau of Engraving & Printing. You know, where they print the money. I walk by the building every morning and evening. BEP and the guidebooks for some reason can’t get the whole “get your tickets on 15th Street, come to the tour on 14th Street” thing right, and so every morning before 7:30, there are at least half a dozen dazed and confused folks scratching their heads (sometimes literally) in front of the place.
Being a friendly sort, I generally stop and ask if they need help. Most are grateful; a few look at me suspiciously and cling to each other and say, “No! We’re just fine.” I just smile and shake my head and walk on. I help the more trusting ones get to the right side of the building and let them know they’ll see the Jefferson en route. If they are oh-so-lucky to be on a private tour or to have tickets from their congressperson and are looking for a place to get breakfast, I direct them to the USDA Cafeteria. Often, I hear a little about their stories and we marvel at the coincidences: “You’re from Norridge, Illinois? I used to live across the street from Norridge!” “You’re from Shakopee, Minnesota? I have cousins who live there!” One day, a couple and I determined that the husband and I had lived in the same apartment complex in suburban Milwaukee back in 1984-85. Small world. Big smiles.
I’ve had my own signs of spring over the years. When I gardened, it was putting in the radishes and onions, or watching the early bulbs start to push their tentative shoots up. When I first moved to Virginia, it was the sound of peepers on the evenings I’d meet a friend outside the metro area for dinner. But these days, it’s the tourists who come to BEP. And their smiles.
