Day Trip: Monticello

Took a family trip down to Monticello Sunday, where at least there was a breeze. I didn't realize Charlottesville was so far away from DC -- I'd always thought of it being about 1.5 hours away; here it turns out to be around 2.5 hours away. I can only imagine how nice it must be on football weekends hitting all those stinking traffic lights on Route 29, too.

I'd been to Monticello when I was a kid, probably in middle-school, maybe younger. All I remembered was the heat and the clock inside the entry door. This time around, we still had the heat, but we weren't waiting outside nearly as long, and the house tour guide was great. I can't say the same for the plantation tour guide. Besides taking herself way too seriously as she distilled 6th grade level history to a group composed mainly of adults, she obviously couldn't handle children being in the group, which is a serious drawback if you're a tour guide for a family attraction that actually has special events for kids and therefore obviously welcomes children as a whole.

So I'm standing there holding my 4 month old daughter -- who by the way doesn't like high heat and humidity any more than this tour guide who hid under an umbrella and refused to take the tour to proper viewing spots because they weren't in the shade -- and she's generally being good. In fact, she's lightly cooing, as 4 month olds do. She's not crying. She's cooing. An occasional group of "ahhs" and every now and then a catch of breath. My son is actually paying attention to this tour guide instead of kicking stones. All is going well, or so we thought.

As this woman gets toward the end of her talk she addresses me and says, "This isn't going to work" or something like that. I didn't at first know she was talking to me. Then she goes on telling us that maybe we could bring the baby back when she's quiet. I was shocked -- really perplexed and speechless -- but my wife was pissed. She asked the guide if she was saying we shouldn't go on the tour -- which was outdoors, not indoors with echoes by the way -- and the guide says maybe we should come back when she's sleeping. Well, my wife went straightaway to report her to the manager and we slunk away from the tour group. As we're leaving, the woman says, "It's bad enough with the heat."

Now I'm thinking to myself exactly what did this idiot expect standing around on the cleared off hill in rural Virginia in the middle of August? Did she fly in from northern Ontario to be a tour guide for the weekend? It's Virginia in August. It's hot.

So my wife in her anger didn't get the tour guide's name and I had to go back to get it. It's one of those three part names, like "Polly Jean Harvey," but it isn't PJ Harvey. I say "Excuse me, ma'am, I'd just like to get your name." She replies, "Oh. What. Oh. You're going to report me. Oh, I see" in this nasty little tone that tells me she would do anything to get a blue ribbon on her preserves at the next Albemarle County farmshow.

We took the house tour an hour after our aborted plantation tour, and not only did our daughter continue to coo with pleasure, but also a few other infants joined her, and the tour guide mentioned it not once.

On a side note, what does IMP stand for?