The corner of going deaf and why don't I have a BB gun?

Working at 17th, Connecticut, and K Street (that's right three streets a corner makes, whoever told you otherwise was silly) has forever altered my tolerance for daily urban annoyances. I used to laud DC's restriction on building height because it kept the city from the "people as bugs" sensation a la New York or Chicago, but now I know better.

I work on the fifth floor and I can hear everything happening on the street like I'm standing outside. The guy that plays the bagpipes on Thursday? He sucks. Saxophone man? Learn a new song! LaRouchies? You make me want to join the NRA just to take you and your f*cking bullhorn out. And the worse offenders of all? SIRENS. I don't think you understand how much I hate sirens. Yes, they're necessary--police, fire engines, and ambulances need to get throught and K Street is a major street--I understand these facts. But I rarely see any of these vehicles speeding down the street on their way to an emergency. Instead, I see them as part of a motorcade because your friendly, neighborhood Congressional whip, Ambassador, Veep, and even the President have to get from point A to point B faster than the speed of traffic.

My office window overlooks Connecticut and one of my pastimes has become the "how important are you?" game that you can tell from counting how many cars are in the motorcade that is piercing my ear drums. Six cars including police? Low-level diplomat. Ten cars and two motorcycle cops? Either Congressional leadership or maybe an Ambassador. Traffic cops not letting people cross the street, eight police cars, four motorcycles, five black Escalades, and four squad cars trailing just for fun? It's gotta to be Dick or George.

This was mildly exciting at first, but only mildly. Now I spend my days mentally drafting angry letters to the DC Police Department asking them if escorting these people is really so important that this procession needs to happen three times a day. By comparison, the Hill is rural. Last night's helicopters and sidewalk searches notwithstanding, I don't get harrassed verbally, aurally or otherwise when I'm home. There are no speeding cars, no crazy people badly playing instruments, and when I hear a siren on the Hill I know it's for an actual emergency.

New K Street project: one day of peace and quiet. I beg you.