Sophomoritis

I read somewhere a long time ago that of the four classes of students in high school or college, the sophomores were the worst in terms of attitude. Something to do with letting the fact that they have a whopping year of experience on the freshman go to their heads. Walking around D.C. in the summertime, I feel I am struck with sophomoritis when it comes to the mobs of tourists. It’s not that I don’t want them here (I only jokingly refer to them as “tour-ons,” a phrase I ripped off from my cousin). To the contrary, one of my favorite pastimes when I am walking around a particularly tourist-y area is to play fanny pack bingo. I find I get a lot of enjoyment over lording my “I know where I’m going” superiority over them. Am I proud of this? Not at all. But every time I see tourists bewildered over how to get through the Metro gates as I swiftly pass through with my “Smart Trip,” I feel a big smile coming on (I have to be nonchalant about my excitement, however - to show that I actually care/am paying attention would be totally uncool). I also thrive on people asking me for directions. Sometimes the directions I give are wrong, but I don’t do it on purpose, I swear. I just can’t resist the thrill sometimes of being a know-it-all (there it is – I’ve said it). The mother load is when I see someone I know on the Metro or the sidewalk. Even though I’m casually chatting up my friend or acquaintance, on the inside, I’m thinking, “Look at me! I’m a very important/intelligent/social/fun person who KNOWS people in this town!” It’s not pretty, I know, but I just can’t help it. I am a chronic sufferer of D.C. sophomoritis.