“Who are we waiting for?” “Jack’s just gone to get something. I think everyone else is here.”
“Ja-ack!”
“Coming,” came a voice from upstairs.
By the time Jack had come down, a phone call had summoned away one of the adult members of the group. People milled around in the kitchen, waiting for her to return so that everyone could go sightseeing on the National Mall. It was nearing 10 in the morning; there was plenty of time for a long and interesting day.
By the time the adult had come back, 20 minutes later, two of the girls had wandered off. By the time they came back, two boys, fed up with waiting, had gone out to skateboard. They could be seen through air that wavered with heat, zipping up and down a dip in the road.
Meanwhile, in the kitchen, well-meaning inertia held sway.
“So, are we going to the Spy Museum?”
“American Indian! American Indian!”
“No, let’s do the Air and Space Museum.”
“Wasn’t there some talk of the National Gallery?”
“Yes, that’s my preference.”
“Wait, didn’t you say we were going to the Spy Museum?”
“We can break up into groups as long as each group has a cell phone,” said some genius.
The adults and teenagers pulled out phones and began laboriously trading numbers. Someone opened the fridge and began pulling out things to eat. Chaos burbled a little closer to the surface.
“No, no, we’re not eating now. We’ll get something at the museum.”
“Which museum?”
“Three-oh-nine … what?”
“But I’m hungry now.”
“… O-four-four-five. Good. Now I’ll give you my number.”
“Are we going soon?”
“Yes, do we have everyone?”
By this point, though morale was still high, there was an ever-so-gentle fraying around the edges. It was now almost noon.
“Ready, everyone?”
“Yes. Finally!”
“May I just run to the bathroom?”
“Go, go go!”
Of the long and torpid morning’s many effects, perhaps the most comic was to cast a sympathetic light on, of all people, leaders of Congress. If it is troublesome to corral a majority of congressional Democrats or Republicans, that’s apparently nothing to the job of trying to bring purpose and unity to a multigenerational party of tourists.
As with the wrangle over the debt ceiling, while there may be broad agreement on principle, the devil is where he always is, in the logistical details. Getting a dozen people downtown is practically the definition of what it means to herd cats.
“OK, who’s going in my car?”
“I can fit five in mine.”
“I can do seven, plus me.”
“But do we have everyone?”
“I think so. Yes!”
“Hold on. Where’s Jack?”
Meghan Cox Gurdon’s column appears on Sunday and Thursday. She can be contacted at [email protected].
