The Washington Center prides itself on its diversity. My room alone hosts students from Connecticut, Massachusetts, Minnesota, and China; I've also met people from Ohio, New Jersey, Florida, Belgium, and Mexico. But despite the range of hometowns, I've yet to find many people from a homecity. Why choose to spend a semester in D.C. away from home and college unless you're from a small town? TWCers are, for the most part, accustomed to car trips and car pools and the occasional bike ride. We are not used to public transportation.

I live in a Connecticut town with no sidewalks, let alone public buses, and as the local pizza place and Wal-Mart are in walking distance of Dickinson's campus, most students there seem to be convinced that we are in little need of transportation anywhere else. As a result, prior to three weeks ago, my experiences with public transportation was limited to tear-and-disaster ridden train trips from home to school and the occasional metro trip in a city forcefully guided by a much more experienced family member. (Two years ago, I misread (and consequently missed) the departure time of the shuttle back to school at the end of my spring break. After pulling my wits together to travel from Hartford to Harrisburg alone via train, I exited the train at New Haven, worried that the one I was already on wouldn't stop in New York, where I needed to transfer for the second leg on my trip. "Leah, all trains stop in New York!" my mother moaned at me over the phone as I sat in the New Haven station and bawled, watching the board in the station change the status of my train from "BRD" to "DPT.")

So far, I'm happy to report that my experiences in D.C. have been tear-free, although any new travel experience is still somewhat anxiety-ridden. My commute to work is much easier (and freer) than most; I take TWC's shuttle from the RAF to Union Station, where I walk the consequent .6 miles to work. The entire trip takes only 15 minutes, and in the afternoons, I've been walking home some days, which takes about 23 minutes. My main experiences with public transit up to this point have been to visit Justin, my boyfriend, who lives in Bethesda, MD, and to travel to class on Monday nights. Thankfully, both Bethesda and Cleveland Park, where Justin works, are on the red line, which runs through the NoMa stop 3 blocks from my apartment.

Class is a little bit more complicated. Both Googlemaps and wmata.com have told me that the easiest route from 1005 3rd St NE to 1100 13th St NW is to take the D4 bus toward Franklin Park, which picks up right in front of the RAF and drops off about three blocks from the Associated Press building (where I have class--very cool!). The first two weeks that route worked out really well. I even somehow became The Girl Who Takes the Bus. "I Just took the bus, it was only $1.60 and really easy," I explained after listening to the rest of my class complain about the too-expensive subway ride and 6 block walk in the dark from the station.

A group of classmates consequently followed me out of class the first two Monday nights at 9:30, thinking I had some hidden knowledge of the D.C. bus system. "No really, I just looked this up on Google, please don't follow me, I have no idea what I'm doing!" I tried to protest. Horrible anxiety filled me, knowing that if I didn't press the yellow strip in time, I would be guilty of leading seven of my peers to ride in circles on D.C. transit for all of eternity--but when we all managed to exit safely on 3rd St NE, my public transportation confidence was somewhat boosted. "I can do this," I thought to myself. "I live here! I know what 'NoMa' stands for! I'm practically a native!"

This brief high was defeated last Monday, however, at 5:54 p.m. I had felt confident enough to ask a girl from my class to travel by bus with me, but as I stood at the stop with Lauren for over twenty minutes, during which time two buses should have come and gone, none came. Sadly, we walked to the NoMa station and took the metro: redline to Metro Center, orange line to McPherson Square. We arrived in class 15 minutes late with our heads bent, and afterward, I shuffled off to the subway station, bypassing the bus stop with mixed emotions of shame and disenchantment, and leaving my peers to their own means.

Perhaps it was this sudden failure that led me to my most recent mix-up. I just spent the past few days in New York City, where I met my parents for the holiday weekend and visited other family. I had a great time seeing my aunt and uncle and cousins (big and little and superhero), but when it came time to take the train back to D.C. from Penn Station, I hit a glitch. My ticket said my train left at 2:20, but the boards didn't list anything for that time. My Aunt Lisa asked for my ticket--which, we realized, I had booked from Washington to New York, instead of the other way around.

I write this blog post on the train back to D.C., on which I somehow managed to attain a seat at no extra cost. I have two hours left until I reach Union Station, during which time I will settle down on my seat and pull out my Downton Abbey Season 2 DVDs. Getting up to use the bathroom is out of the question; my last bit of self-esteem was squashed when I tried to play the strong, helpful college student and lift the bag of the woman sitting next to me onto the overhead rack--and very nearly dropped it on the head of the elderly gentleman sitting behind me. At least it's President's Day and there's no class tonight. If there was, I think I'd be resigned to walking.