No Doors

It was almost a eleven months ago when I was in Washington, DC the last time.I will never forget the day.It was early January of 2010 and I was with Chas. We had traveled down from Philadelphia so I could catch my flight back to Uganda out of Dulles International Airport.At the time, Chas couldn't stop telling me how much he loved me because I was the most confident woman he had ever met. How he liked the fact that I spoke without stuttering or censoring myself. And, on that day in DC, how I walked around the city like I owned it.I remember wanting to impress him more than anything. I remember feeling like I had found love that was "real" for the first time in many years and I wanted to show him everything and everyone I knew.He had spent a small fortune driving and flying all over the East Coast to be with me for the four remaining days I had in the United States so I felt it was only fair to show him DC. After all, it had been my home for nearly ten years and I certainly had managed to uncover its charms, hidden as they might have been in the beginning.From the onset, Chas was suspicious."This place has no soul," he told me as we rolled into town, trying to be a good sport."Look, I have gotten us a room in a historic DC hotel! It was built in the nineteenth century and I used to go there for business meetings all the time and I always wanted to stay there...you just wait, you're going to love it!" I told him.He didn't love it. Not at all.Although he was still a good sport."Um, where do I go to the bathroom?" he asked."Why, right here," I explained, showing him the bathroom in our room."Patti, there is no DOOR on this bathroom. I understand the whole historic thing but I cannot, um, well, I cannot go to the bathroom in a place that has no doors," he said."Oh, it's fine," I told him.He favored me with a look that told me it was anything but fine."It's one of the oldest inns in Washington, DC!" I told him. "Don't you love it?""It's nice," he said, sitting down on the bed only to be firmly propelled back into the atmosphere in an upright position."Mattresses are historic here too?" he queried.The next day, as he watched me pay the $286/night bill, he couldn't keep his opinion to himself."Patti, you know in Philadelphia we have plenty of historic stuff but no one is going to charge you $286 a night to sleep in a bed that Martha Washington probably got arthritis on and then have to go... um, poop.... with the kitchen staff down in the basement because there are NO FUCKING DOORS on the john in the room!"Meekly I tried, "It's historic," again."Fuck historic...if you're going to pay that much money for historic, I'd rather go to Greece and crap among the ruins. If I can't have a door, at least let me shit next to Plato or something...."I remember thinking this was charming...what I had missed about Philadelphia and Philadelphians.Adorable, I thought.Then, exactly two weeks later, Chas was showing me around his home in southern New Jersey after I had unceremoniously lost my job in Uganda."Look," he said, when we got to the bathroom, "it has a door!"Touche'.But over the past year, I came to grips with the fact that I had to go back to Washington, DC.It was a slow realization initially but then it came hard and fast when I saw a job last month that made my heart leap out of my chest."Look!" I told Chas, dragging my computer out into the living room to show him the advertisement. "I can do that! I want to do THAT!""I knew this day was coming," he said, sadly."I want to go back, I want to go back to work again. I want this job....I don't care if it is in DC...I just want to go back to work!" I told him."So apply," he said.And I did. And I heard back immediately. And then we were faced with something else: we had to go to DC again for an interview."No more historic hotels, please?" Chas asked. "I will come with you and I will drive but I will not stay in any more places that don't have doors on the bathroom, OK?"So we stayed with my friends, Jeff and Isaac. Gay, recently, and officially, married but together forever, and two of the kindest souls I have ever met in my life."They're gay," I told Chas on the drive down."So what?" he asked. "Do they have doors on their bathrooms?"The next morning, dropping me off for the interview, Chas said,"You really CAN do this, it's amazing."Nervous, sweating in a suit and heels that I haven't worn for, oh, eleven months, I asked, distracted:"What? What is it that I can do?""You just changed. You look like you belong here. You can walk and talk with the best of them," he said.Oddly, I was insulted."No, not an insult," he clarified. "A compliment...you never cease to amaze me...I think that's why I love you so much."I nailed the interview.When I came back out to meet Chas at the car, I found him huddled inside reading the paper."I thought you were going to go get coffee?" I asked."I was...but then I held the door for this woman and she didn't even say 'thank you.' And I went to order a small coffee and it was almost five dollars! I mean, really, Patti....what is in a cup of coffee that makes it cost five dollars?! I can get three times that amount of coffee for half the price in Philly. I don't mean to sound disrespectful but I am just not comfortable here. And I kind of understand why people are pissed at DC, who pays $5 for a damn coffee? But, anyway, I took this...it was free, right?"I looked down to see him holding a Washington Post that he nabbed going out the door. No, it wasn't free but in Philly if you leave something laying around like the newspaper, someone is going to take it. They'll give it back, of course, but there are no "Starbucks Rules" in Philly."Let's go home," I said.Last week, I had to go back to DC for another interview with another company. When it rains, it pours.Chas agonized about coming with me until I proposed a solution."Drive me to the train station in Philly this afternoon and I will take the train to DC. You don't have to come, just pick me up tomorrow at the train station again."He looked relieved.I spent the night in DC and, just as Chas said, I was able to acclimate myself again without much trouble.I don't necessarily think that I am all that talented. There was a time when I had to travel for a living so I am used to, well, getting used to someone else's world and acclimating quickly. But this time I missed home immediately.I snuck out of bed at 7am after a long night of drinking and catching up and sent a text message to Chas."You awake?" I asked."I'm here," came the immediate reply."I can do both," I texted. "I can do both. But now I want to come home.""I know you can do both, I never doubted that, but YOU doubted that," he replied."Can we go to the Moose tonight and drink cheap beer and then order a crappy pizza?" I ventured."What did you eat last night?" he asked."Pizza," I responded. (My capacity to eat pizza just about every day of the week never ceases to amaze Chas).Then, the dreaded question:"And how much is a pizza in DC?" he queried."Eighteen dollars for a medium pizza with one topping," I wrote back, cheeks ablaze."Dear Lord! Nevermind, I will be at the train station at 1pm. See you then," he replied.Stepping off the train at 30th Street Station in Philadelphia, I held the door for someone who said "thank you." I found Chas at the entrance waiting for me like an expectant parent while also helping an old lady stay out of the fray while she looked for her son."That was a lot harder than any of the international trips," I told Chas, driving away from the train station."The hardest thing in one's life is always figuring out where to come home to, right?" he asked."I think I know now," I told him."Yeah, I think so too," he agreed.Later that night, exhausted but among friends at the Moose Lodge in Wildwood, New Jersey, the bartender said,"So Chas tells me you're about to go back to DC and be some big shot again, is that true?"I didn't want to talk about anything at that point and I certainly did not feel like a former or future big shot so I changed the subject."Did Chas ever tell you how he met me?" I asked."Yeah, he did. He said he picked up some hot, smart, girl at a bar in Florida who then took him to a hotel in DC where they had no doors on the bathroom and he had to, um, poop, in the basement with the kitchen staff. That's you, right?" he asked.Yep. That's me.