capitol hill

I work at the news and I guess “miking” people up to go live on camera should be exciting but the most exciting thing about the news business are the quirky personalities. News people are funny live wires quivering with anticipation. All day long. Every day. And because Washington DC is a place that makes a lot of news, the whole city has a kind of tense nervousness about it, especially Capitol Hill. Every file and stamp is handled as if it will have cardinal impact on the lives of “the American people.”

On the last Friday of April I went up to the Hill to get my media credentials. I work in the media so this is an obligatory pilgrimmage I make every year to renew my ID cards.

The Senate Dirksen Building is a gloomy hollow place. The cement floors have that metallic sheen reminiscent of jail houses. Most people are strapped in discomforting black suits or other combinations of “professional attire.”

The Senate ID Office is a long room. There are two clerks behind the counter. Upon entry one of them will point you to a chair. There is no hello. In fact, there is a sign in front of the counter that says “Take a Seat” on one of three chairs next to the door.  If you’ve come to this room they assume you must want to have your picture taken, period. They assume that you know exactly how this ball rolls because – and they are right – who would come here just to drop by?

When the clerk is ready, he motions for you to move over. There is another chair to the right which is set directly in front of a small camera. You sit, he takes a picture on his computer monitor.

Then you are directed in the same precise curt manner to go sit on one of the chairs on the other side of the room.  This is the luxe treatment. These chairs have a little table in front of them topped with a bouquet of plastic flowers and a box of lanyards. A warning says “Only One Per ID.” Because there are, for sure, some lanyard thieves who come up here for just this blue and white rope.

At first I thought “how funny, congressional humor.” But then, I realized there is nothing funny in government offices. I used to work in one. Government people feel the same way about ironic jokes and undecided voters. It gives them a tightness in the rear and they get that look you have on your face when you really need to go but can’t.

While I waited for my shiny new press ID, I met two media veterans. Ok, maybe not “met.” I eavesdropped on two media veterans. They, too, were waiting for their IDs. They had already outfitted themselves with brand new lanyards when I sat down and considered my choices. Should I get the blue and white one or the blue and white one?

The woman journalist, who, now that I think of her again, looks like Maya Rudolph, got a phone call and began speaking in the hurried clipped manner news people have, as if they have someplace else to go, something more pressing to do.  ”So bye, bye.” Click.

The man was groaning about his next job. He checked his cell phone for the third time in five minutes.

“Is that a blackberry?” the woman inquired, knowing full well what is a blackberry and what isn’t, because blackberries are to the news cabal what inhalers are to an asthmatic – indispensable. The very thought of its absence can produce respiratory failure.  So the man says “Oh, it’s a fake blackberry. It’s from T-Mobile…” Then he continued to jibe.  ”You know I’m going to get screwed on this job. Let me just read you what I have here. There are going to be two people with her, her mother and hair & make-up.”

“Her mother will be with her? That ought to be interesting,” replied his friend.

“Yeah, but there are already six people with her. lt’s like when I did Dennis Quaid. I got screwed. I got everything together – it was a big project – print and photography were involved. I got photography to come up there and shoot the whole thing. Then, they used FILE* photos!!”

“Ugh,” his interlocutor says as if someone had spat in her face.
“Yea, and Dennis Quaid of course had someone with him and I told him ‘this is not a two-fer. It’s just for you.’ And he says OK, but then he brings his wife and I’m like ‘no, it’s a not a two-fer!!! I only have one mic.’
‘We can just pass it back and forth,’ he said.
It´s a LAVALIER!!! You’re not passing it anywhere!”  He was screaming, indignant. His friend had a look of blighted dignity on her face, too. No one will ever understand the hardship they have to go through to mic someone up! No one!

On the way out, I ran into a woman in a crisp white jacket. We both took off down the same hallway – the halls are infinite – and I noticed that she was scrutinizing me. She looked at every detail. I looked at her and she beat her eye lashes downward and smiled. Obviously I was an outsider with my yellow spring jacket and orange turtle neck. I did wear grey dress over it to temper it down, to match the tone of the Hill. But I guess my concession was a finger when they needed a whole hand.

Further down the hall, I saw two men walking and talking, broad smiles flashing. Older gentlemen, graying, the kind of people who really take time to iron all their clothes even if they have arthritis. As we walk exit-ward, we bantered the way old folks like to do with young folks, dropping hints of wisdom. “How long have you been here?,” one of them asked. Twenty minutes. “Ah, you have not been here long, you’re for real.” They agreed, smiled at one another and shook their heads like grandparents when they talk about how cheap gas used to be in their teenage days, whey borrowed their fathers’ cars and snuck their girls out of the window and did things they’d never forget after all these years…

* FILE are old video and pictures used in cases in breaking news emergency when nothing fresher is yet available.