As the day approaches for the Women’s March on Washington, I have been trying to figure out how I will make my way from the airport to the gathering point, listed as the intersection of Independence Avenue and 3rd street SW. My principal worry has been finding it, since I do not know Washington very well, but this morning I stumbled on this story in the Washington Post. Apparently, 150,000 people are expected to show up. One hundred fifty thousand! With 1000 buses and enough porta-toilets to service the mob [how many porta-toilets does it take to service 150,000 people?] My problem will not be finding the damned thing. My problem will be getting close enough to it so that I feel I am participating and not just visiting the nation’s capital.
The affair is called a march, but I do not think we will march anywhere. I mean, think about it. Suppose we were to march from 3rd street SW to 4th street SW. If we march ten abreast, and if each line of ten passes a given point [say midway between 3rd and 4th] every 2.5 seconds, then it will take 10 hours for all of us to get from 3rd to 4th. I figure once they have us all there, they will just start speechifying and singing good old progressive songs and chanting slogans, and like that.
My plans call for me to spend two hours at the gathering, which is about all I can stand. Then I will Uber back to the airport and come home. Not quite in a league with being crucified on an anthill, as T. S. Eliot would have it, but not nothing, after all. Without me, there would only by 149,999. Not the same thing at all.