The first time I was kicked out was back in January of 2005. Maybe it is better to say "un-kindly asked to leave." Either way, I had to go.
It was the eve of President Bush's second inauguration, and with nothing else to celebrate, some of John Kerry's volunteers from the Iowa campaign were commemorating the Senatah's win in the Iowa caucuses; they had rented out the whole top floor of the Hawk 'n' Pigeon. (Or maybe it was Dove ... I can't remember.)
I watched as JK's Iowa campaign manager (who at the time was faced with unemployment) walked up to me. Out of the seven people I was there with, of course, he picks me to hunt down and interrogate: "Did you work on the Iowa campaign?"
Of course I could have just lied to him and said "Oh yeah, sure, ethanol right?" But I can't even place Iowa on the map, let alone pretend I had criss-crossed the state campaigning for Lurch. So he escorted me and "my friends" out of the Hawk; we hung our heads in shame, and got on the Metro back to our hotel.
But not to worry. This term, a full two years after I was escorted out of the Hawk because I was wearing Kerry bumper stickers on my shirt and dancing with actual Kerry volunteers, I have returned many-a-time to this essential D.C. intern hang out.
Hawk 'n' Pigeon is the kind of place interns and youthful staffers go to enjoy a pleasant drink (or seven) with a burger after a long hard day "working" on the hill. You know, answering the Congressmen's phones, sorting the Senators' mail, picking the dry cleaning, the usual hill work.
Closest to the Capitol South Metro stop, staffers don't even have to walk too far ...you can almost see the lit white cast-iron dome of the Capitol building; that's how close it is.
The wall behind the main bar is covered in political bumper stickers from campaigns long since gone from our memories. McGovern '08? No?
Modeled after an Irish bar, the inside is dark but lively, featuring neon lights in some places and big TV screens in others. It prides itself on not being the place politicos are wheelin' 'n' dealin' but instead in being the place the wheelers 'n' dealers of tomorrow enjoy themselves today.
But now, well over two years since my first removal from the Hawk, I've been back a bunch of times this semester. We like to head down there after our internships let out on Friday, when most of us are looking for a little reminder that we are in fact not completely working adults yet.
Last time I was there I couldn't resist the temptation to order a big, juicy medium rare cheeseburger. Mmmm, was it good. Unfortunately though, squirting hot inner juices proved to be quite hard to wipe off my tie and my blue shirt. I liked that shirt.
Upstairs there is a dance floor, with its own bar, and more fun. Overall it is quite the "I'm new in town but I want to fit in, accept me please" hangout spot. No question, there are regulars, as my group of friends and I have become. In fact, I can see things spiraling out of control to the point where people might actually know our names soon. (Shocking!)
Then there's Old Ebbitt Grill, literally across the street from the Treasury Department, and a snipers-shot away from the White House. Ebbitt's is like Hawk, only a little more grown up. Teddy Roosevelt enjoyed frequenting Ebbitt's, and it is the sort of place where journalists and "real" politicians eat, drink, and violate ethics laws. (I have no proof of this, no lawsuits please.)
It's the kind of place you make your parents take you to when they are visiting you. "I'll have the Jumbo Lump Crab Cakes with an orca appetizer platter ... that comes with oysters right? Thanks mom and dad!"
Either way, both establishments are uniquely D.C. places serving their niches. They are uniquely D.C. in that the interns that descend on this city each year keep one establishment open, while the other is maintained by the constant influx of new bureaucrats and politicians.
Apart from Spring Break Boston '07, I guess I haven't really left the "taxation without representation" district. There was that minor excursion into Virginia (and one fateful weekend in the Big Apple, but you already read about that). We toured the Pentagon, which is in Arlington.
I was shocked by how unimpressive the inside of the Pentagon is; OK, I take that back. I was shocked by how similar to a mall the inside of the Pentagon is .... OK, one more try: I was shocked by how mundane the section of the Pentagon we were allowed to tour is. Phew, that's better.
On the tour, we got to see hallway after hallway, escalator after escalator, in what is known as the "highest capacity office building in the world." There was a Sparros and a CVS and even a Bank of America, all conveniently located within the huge complex.
We visited the interior memorial to the civilian and military victims of the Sept. 11 attacks. It was an interesting experience to hear our army tour guide explain that we were entering a section of the building that had been completely destroyed by an airplane. There is now a permanent chapel and memorial inside and there are currently plans to build a memorial park on the outside.
In the inner courtyard there is a hot dog stand (it was closed for renovations when we visited). Rumor has it that during the cold war, the Soviets had way too many nuclear missiles honed in on the hot dog stand at the center of the court yard. Why? Well for starters the Pentagon is the seat of the Department of Defense, little known fact.
Urban legends say that the Soviets did this, because (every day around noon) they saw (in their satellite spy images) hundreds of Pentagon employees flock to the center of the courtyard, in what looked like a missile silo change-of-guard.
Apart from the apparent faulty logic of this (why would the changing of the guard take place in broad daylight at high noon for the Soviets to see?), no one has been able to get a straight answer from the Russians on this one. And so it remains a local legend.
Luckily, I didn't get asked to leave the Pentagon, like my first visit to the Hawk 'n' Pigeon. Ebbitt's didn't ask me to leave either, but I'm guessing if I visited without the full faith and credit of my parents, I would be shown the "your credit card has been declined" door. Then there's that place in Dupont where I got asked to leave and my name was put on a list of "not allowed to ever return" people. But I don't like to talk about that.
I'm starting to hear the message and it is ringing louder and clearer everyday.
The time to leave the box and get out of the district is getting nearer and nearer.
