Pink Wig on Georgia

Pink Wig was frequently spotted here.

Several years ago, my wife and I moved to a quickly gentrifying neighborhood in Washington, DC. Despite being inside the city limits, Takoma, owing in large part to its location nestled just south of the northernmost point in the city, was more of a suburb than anything else. It’s got that feel. Homes have yards big enough to mow. Neighbors actually talk to each other. And for some things, you still need a car. However, our grocery was within walking distance just a half mile south on one of the city’s main north-south corridors, Georgia Ave. It’s a busy 4-lane oak tree-lined (at least in our area) boulevard used by commuters headed south mostly coming from Montgomery and Howard Counties in Maryland during the morning rush and then headed north in the afternoon. But it’s busy at all hours. Main transportation arteries are going to be that way.

Just like every other part of our nation’s capital, it’s rapidly changing, especially the areas east of Rock Creek Park. Across the road from our condo is a new development to replace the old Walter Reed Medical Center. They’re building a Whole Foods, which will cut our commute time to the grocery by nearly ninety percent.

In the blocks surrounding our condo, there are new families moving in and homes filled with folks who’ve lived there since the wealthy white families on the west side of Rock Creek Park openly called it the Gold Coast. Upwardly mobile black families looking to escape Shaw and Mt. Pleasant moved there for space, fresh air, and relative safety. There are duplexes and single-family homes a block off the east side of Georgia Ave.

But closer to the busy thoroughfare are rowhomes, apartment buildings, and condos. Intersections with side streets remain busy, chock full of folks leaving the neighborhood for work and commuters who spy the area as a shortcut to their destination.

Folks here adamantly believe Maryland drivers are notoriously the worst in the DMV. To prove their position, folks around DC will point to the fact that drivers from the Old Line State owe thousands in unpaid traffic tickets. The assertions gain further power when one of those drivers with thousands of traffic fines inevitably causes an accident or kills a pedestrian. Driver inattention. Reckless driving by weaving in and out of lanes. Blowing through stop signs or red lights. Speeding while traversing a neighborhood. It’s all on display every day, and it’s almost always a Maryland driver.

This is all to say that while walking south from our condo to the grocery, passing the numerous row homes, parked cars, condo and apartment buildings, observing the new construction and dodging fallen acorns, and crossing multiple busy intersections filled with vehicles piloted by inattentive drivers, we absolutely must keep our head on a swivel. We can still listen to a podcast, but it should be with a single headphone. Not both. It’s too busy not to have at least one ear open to the noises, sounds, and cues that may signal impending doom.

Look, the neighborhood itself isn’t dangerous. Though there are times when I have heard gunshots, it's infrequent. Folks care about what goes on here. There are street festivals, parties, homes open on the weekends for friends and family to stop by unannounced, and porch sittin’ on warm evenings. Folks say hello. They wave and smile. There’s friendly banter.

But like a skillful midfielder plying their trade in the top football leagues across Europe, you must continuously scan. You must always prepare for the unexpected. Be proactive. And be ready to react with little notice.

Even though I had made that trek, a half mile in both directions, from our condo with a private rooftop to the often chaotic but well-apportioned Safeway dozens of times, I told myself I could never be complacent. Drivers are crazy. I need to be on the lookout for the reckless ones from Maryland.

This time though, it wasn’t a driver that caught my attention and required swift evasive maneuvers. It was something unexpected.

I had seen them blocks away, from the moment I left my condo. It was hard not to. The pink wig waving and jostling with every jerk and hitch of their body could be seen from space, sans telescope. They were loud without me being able to hear them. It didn’t matter what they said or what they were doing. I knew I would need to be on the lookout for what Pink Wig was up to. This is why attention is essential. You catch unexpected things. They disrupt the natural pattern and require adjustment, acknowledgement, and awareness.

You see, Georgia Ave isn’t just a place for bad drivers jostling for position on their commute from the DC suburbs of Maryland. It’s also a thoroughfare for fascinating characters, scalawags, and rascals. They’re mostly harmless and provide great content for writers, momentary interludes for mundane morning or afternoon walks. Rules, order, decorum don’t matter. The pedestrian version of reckless drivers, they enjoy jaywalking—the kind you find in third-world countries and Chinatowns in big cities across the United States.

‘Interesting,’ I told myself as I made a mental note of Pink Wig. They disappeared before I got close enough to see the entire ensemble.

Georgia Ave Safeway.

I did my shopping, paid, and began leaving the store. At that point, I noticed Pink Wig had entered the grocery, too. They were wearing black mock combat boots, white socks creeping above the tops of the them. Above that and below the wig was a bright pink bikini, bra, leotard fusion. The ensemble reminded me of something you might see on American Gladiators or WWE. And between the bikini was what I recognized as the waning six-pack of a former athlete. The one we all had in high school during soccer season, but ultimately lost immediately after we stopped playing. One that would peak out occasionally in the right light or after a few weeks of getting back to the gym. Pink Wig was ashy, too, in desperate need of a tub of Vaseline intensive care. But it didn’t stop them from being bright and flashy. Full of charisma and attitude. Or walking with conviction and purpose while also having none.

When I left, there was one more stop between Safeway and home. I thought I had put enough distance between myself and Pink Wig. Assuming they would spend more time in the grocery, my guard was down as I waited to cross the first intersection on my way back home and pick up a prescription at the CVS directly across Georgia Ave from the Safeway. It was almost always a chaotic scene. And I was thinking about dealing with what would inevitably be a cluster fuck. I leaned in to press the button to call the crosswalk signal. This wasn’t a place where you could or should take your chances. Though, people do it all the time. People like Pink Wig. People with nothing to lose or no time to spare. People used to crossing four lanes of traffic because crosswalks are just rules meant to be ignored.

Before I could actually touch the button, I heard and then felt Pink Wig.

“I got you, boy! Too slow to press that button, whatchu doin' anyways,” the Pink Wig said with a scowl that was equal parts banter and menacing, as they pushed me out of the way and punched the button only to not walk that way across the street. It was the first time I had ever heard Pink Wig’s voice. A lifetime’s worth of menthol cigarette smoke is the only way something that deep could have come out of something that small.

I was flustered like anyone would be, when someone you don’t know touches you in some unwanted, undesired way. It stayed with me for longer than I wanted. But mostly, I could not wrap my head around what exactly had happened. What was going on in their head that made pushing me an acceptable decision? I wasn’t going to ask, though. Why would I risk further escalation? Pink Wig had scampered away in a different direction and the distance between us was growing exponentially.

For the days and weeks after that, I gave that route a wide berth to avoid running into Pink Wig. A few weeks later, though, our paths crossed again. It was farther north and a reasonable distance away from the Safeway. They were exiting a nearby McDonalds and headed in my direction, I was on my way to a local brewery. I stepped to the side as they began to pass. And as they did, I heard them say, “I gotchu boy.”

I looked up to catch them taking a step toward me as they threw wide looping and poorly executed haymaker. I'm not sure I ever moved so fast, but I dipped, ducked, and dodged the potential blow. Then remembered my soccer playing days and changed speeds as I changed directions. Some might call that muscle memory. I just call it urban survival. Either way, I didn’t look back.

In the weeks and months after that, I remained hyper-vigilant. I didn’t want to deal with that nonsense. They seemed well-versed in sneak attacks, stealthy movements until the timing was right. So, there was probably no amount of eye-peeling that would have saved me from a future encounter. It is what it is, though.

I saw Pink Wig a few more times between then and when we moved to Beijing–mostly while on my commutes to and from taking my daughter to or picking her up from daycare. They were still up to no good, flashy, jostling, hitching, twitching. But seeing them again didn’t elicit some negative feelings or draw up old trauma. Maybe that was because I was in my car. I don’t know. Regardless, I was glad they were still around, thriving, giving a symbolic double-barreled middle finger to the world, adding character to the space around us.