Lots of people are on Twitter, and for many different reasons. Some people—I count myself among these—use it for professional reasons. Others enjoy it as an all-purpose outlet, while plenty of people use it as yet another means to interact with friends. Some just opt to lurk, and others—like the guy below—employ it for very specific purposes.

Overheard of the Week

Two security guards in their mid-40s check their phones while waiting in line at a Dupont deli during a weekday lunch rush:

Guy 1: I need to stop following some of these people on Twitter.
Guy 2: Your first mistake was being on Twitter.
Guy 1: Well, I did it for a reason.
Guy 2: What’s that?
Guy 1: It gives me a place to be drunk, loud, and belligerent. But anonymously, so it’s not on Facebook.

Keep those ears to the ground and those pens and pads of paper in hand, and send the best tidbits of what you hear to our special email account. Include some basic context to set the scene.

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Interesting Interior Decorations

From one skinny white Lycra clad runner in expensive sneakers and workout clothes to another, on the Capital Crescent Trail one morning.

“Well, and his girlfriend takes pole dancing classes, so they have a pole in their living room…”

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No One Cheers for the Wizards, So Talk There

Tuesday night, during the Caps 3-0 victory over Carolina, on the 400-level concourse. One 20-something girl to another, neither wearing anything that says “Capitals” on it, semi-exasperated:

“Oh my god, it’s so hard to have a conversation when everyone is cheering and yelling all the time!”

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In Your Face!

In a Senate building waiting to get on an elevator. A group of lobbyists—an older woman, a middle-aged man and a younger guy in his late 20s.

Woman: Are your shoes Italian too?
Younger guy: No, they’re from Zara, so they’re Spanish.
Woman: Oh! I thought they looked European. They definitely don’t look American.
Middle-aged man: My shoes are Italian.
Woman: I didn’t notice. I couldn’t get over your face.

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Red Rum on the Red Line

Tuesday morning on the Red Line between Van Ness and Dupont Circle. Old grizzly man sitting all alone. No one is trying to sit in the empty seat next to him even though the train is full. Turns out it’s because he keeps repeating, over and over, in the creepy “redrum” voice from The Shining, “Red Line. Red Line. Red Line. Red Line. Red Line.”

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Not Hip, Just Gross

Hip twenty-something walking with well-dressed parents on 14th near Rhode Island on Sunday afternoon:

“You know I stopped washing my hair, right?”

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Boomtown

Last Saturday afternoon, at the Starbucks on Wisconsin Ave. in upper Georgetown. A man in his mid-30s dressed in quintessential preppie clothes—khaki pants, blue blazer—and sporting a Don Draper haircut is talking on loudly his cell phone.

“Oh yeah? So which one did you like the best out of all the test drives? No wait, let me guess—the Mercedes?”

Several customers look up from studying and snicker as he walks upstairs.

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Reasonable Request

A late-20s dude in a white polo and khakis is on the phone, pacing around the front of an Annandale restaurant as he talks. Suddenly, very seriously, and loudly:

“Okay, I know, but listen to me: No more penises in your vagina until I get home, ok?”