How incredible to witness history up close!
Friday night, I ended up working late. So, I didn’t have time to go home and grab a bag or anything (like I thought I would)… I mean, I almost packed before work. I just didn’t think I’d be getting out at 1am.
So, I went in the clothes I had figuring I could get through a crazy exciting/full weekend. (I mean, stores exist, right?)
I rushed out of work close to 1am, and got to the Port Authority – which was packed with people going down to DC.
One of the Greyhound workers was telling me that apparently they have 3 buses that usually do that route through the night (on a normal tonight). Tonight? Over 20.
We all filled the buses and went on our way.
Once I got to DC, there were people all over Union Station at such an early time of morning/night. It was so cool to see people on the ground making signs and new friends. I liked hearing empowering conversations and feeling great energy.
I headed to my friend Fareed’s house, and on the way I stopped and bought a couple of women’s marches shirts. (See? I didn’t need to pack clothes after all! :-))
I went and took and quick shower, and dropped off my bag (because of all the rules of the march of not being allowed to have a bag with you unless it was very small or see-through, etc.).
I didn’t realize that he and his roommates and gotten a whole group together. It was so cute seeing everybody in the morning milling about his house, looking out for each other. People packed each other snack bags and made signs for themselves and each other. I gave Sheeva (Fareed’s sister) on of my shirts.
A bunch of us wrote in sharpie on our arms the phone number of a place that could give legal help if we were arrested… I did it, but thought it was a wee bit silly of an idea because:
a) I couldn’t imagine being arrested for peacefully protesting.
b) I could only imagine the police being super helpful if I were arrested.
…And that means I’m super privileged. And I guess I was slightly worried that if I wrote the number on my arm, I’d be looking ridiculous, like someone knowing she’s privileged taking extra steps to “look like a protestor.”
But since I really didn’t know what was gonna go down, I wrote the number on my arm.
[Spoiler alert: Nothing “went down,” but this is where I’ll pick up tomorrow!]