So Rachel and I are sitting on the metro, zombie-like after a long weekend of Independence festivities. And she says, offhandedly, “Victor wanted one of us in the office when the other one was at our meeting today.”
“Our meeting?” I asked. I was still zombie-like at this point.
“You know. One of us was today. It wasn’t me.”
My eyes widen– I can feel it– when I realize I am in fact supposed to be at the press building that afternoon and not in the boonies of New York Ave. I almost jump off the metro before the doors open. What’s much worse, though, is that it’s 9:10 and I’m in the District, and although I know I have a 10a.m. meeting in Arlington that I have to walk to, I cannot remember for the life of me what day I set it up for. My planner is still at work.
I run off the metro, then run back. “Your phone! I have to check my email!” I grab Rachel’s iPhone. There’s the afternoon meeting indeed: Tuesday, not Wednesday. 3pm. Now for that morning meeting. Am I really supposed to be there in 45 minutes, without directions in hand?
Rachel is going to be late at this point if I don’t give back her phone and let her go on to Union Station. We part ways, me waving wildly, calling Shared Hope at the same time just to be sure I’m not about to burn a very helpful source.
No. My meeting is Thursday at 10 o’clock. Praise the Lord! All I have to do it grab my Macbook Air and head over to the Press Club.
….And not quite. I open up my work email, and my editor wants to confirm I am definitely going to “that press conference we discussed.” Of course I will… when I remember which one that is! Apparently I should never, ever have a three day weekend again.
We sort out which press conference it is, but there’s no media contact and the only phone number is a cell. No problem, right? People have small offices and self-run businesses. I walk over to the court of appeals building on Indiana Ave. Well, I try. But google maps lied to me. Indiana is the opposite way, and I only find my destination because policemen know the way. So I go up the elevator and ask the marshall about the press conference.
He’s never heard of this group. He doesn’t know there was a press conference scheduled. He calls the number I give him, and gets a busy signal. I walk away not entirely dejected, since I know nothing about the group as of yet.
Then, as I exit the air-conditioned building into 98 and humid, I realize my “press conference” is on the sidewalk. Not sure whether to be relieved or perturbed, I interrogate my source. He provides me with a court case. I know I won’t understand it. But what else can I do? He’s helping me get a story, so I’ll take it.
My visit to Shared Hope this morning was much less eventful, aside from standing in between two roads marked “Lee Hwy” and having to figure out which Lee Hwy I need to be on (hoping it’s the one with a sidewalk!). But I found them, and they were very helpful. I’ve spent much of my afternoon reading an 80-page report on Domestic Minor Sex Trafficking, and while it doesn’t emotionally affect me as much as it would some people– a strange blessing– it does wear on me to read fact after fact and case after case.
It’s the end of the workday here, which means I get to run now. Running will help me process the situation of these thousands of trafficking victims, figure out how best to present the issue to the public. I work through things in my mind when I run.
I also train for a half marathon when I run! I picked up a pair of Nike Air Max running shoes this weekend, and so far I love them. This weekend, if it’s not too darn humid, I’ll do an eight or nine mile run. I’m so excited. And nervous. I have to double my distance before the half marathon, but it’s going to be awesome!