There’s an interesting article in the Post today about the brugeoning club district centered around 14th and K Streets. That’s just a few blocks south of where we live, and we frequently pass through that area on the way to the metro. It’s also part of our ANC, and more specifically, our SMD.
Hedda and I have another name for it: Douchebag Central. It’s like somebody took some sort of nuclear too-rich-too-yuppy-too-wannabe-too-self-important bomb and dropped it on the intersection. On any given night, the streets around Franklin Square are jam-packed with ricers, hummers, and the valets parking them. The crowds spill out onto the street, blocking the sidewalk, waiting for their chance to get into an “exclusive” club. And the clubs deliver on the experience, thrumming with loud music, serving overpriced drinks, and offering the Average Kid a chance to hobnob with those-who-they-think-are-elite.
But don’t get me wrong. I’m glad the Virginians and Marylanders are coming into the city to spend their money. And I’m pleased that such great night-time commercial activity is occurring in the downtown area just south of our neighborhood. And I’m quite happy that we live a mere two-or-three blocks from this epicenter, on the rare occasions we might wish to partake in it. And it’s a far sight better than the hookers and drug dealers that used to populate the area. Now, the infamous “No Right Turns Between 9pm and 5am” signs are (mostly) just an amusing reminder of that past.
But man, why do they have to be such douchebags?