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Pretty much. It's a low-class **** area--It hasn't modernized one bit since 1940. But there are definitely areas around here I'd make a video about before Annandale.
But really, anything South of Route 50 inside the beltway is totally ****:
These schools are 1.4m apart. Notice the demographics and who gets free lunches.
also take a look at where all the crime is in relation to Route 50:
For Joe Perez. Somebody finally ran with it but I don't see anyone actually producing a similarly named product yet. I was hoping someone would market something nationally.
Ironically, the need for a men-only (or, at least, child-free) airline service is far greater today than in the heyday of the NY Exec. Back then, only people who could afford to fly were to be found on airplanes, which sorted out most of the riff-raff automatically.
Who here remembers when stewardesses were attractive?
Having never been to a Starbuck, do you really wait so long for them to pour your coffee that they need to take your name?
The problem, as I understand it, is that most people don't go into a Starbucks and order coffee. They order something along the line of a quad long shot grande in a venti cup half calf double cupped no sleeve salted caramel mocha latte with 2 pumps of vanilla substitute 2 pumps of white chocolate mocha for mocha and substitute 2 pumps of hazelnut for toffee nut half whole milk and half breve with no whipped cream extra hot extra foam extra caramel drizzle extra salt add a scoop of vanilla bean powder with light ice, well stirred.
(I did some quick googling, and the above is supposedly a valid order.)
This order take a while to process, and when you have ten people all lining up for the same thing, a queuing system is inevitable.
I tried Starbucks coffee once, and it was awful. Bitter and over-roasted.
Also, you can apparently buy coffee which is somehow specifically designed to be shoved up your ***:
Ironically, the need for a men-only (or, at least, child-free) airline service is far greater today than in the heyday of the NY Exec. Back then, only people who could afford to fly were to be found on airplanes, which sorted out most of the riff-raff automatically.
Who here remembers when stewardesses were attractive?
The prerequisites were largely the same no matter which airline you hoped to fly for: with rare exceptions, you needed to have two X chromosomes; to be no younger than 20 and no older than 27; to be no shorter than five feet two inches or taller than five feet nine inches; to have a slender, “well-proportioned” figure (as a United recruiter once explained, “We are not looking for the Jayne Mansfield type”); to not, in any case, weigh more than 140 pounds; to agree to retire at the age of 32; to not currently be married (though it was permissible to be widowed or divorced); to not have children; and to absolutely, positively not be pregnant. In short, you needed to be both desirable and, at least in theory, available.
Like starlets under contract to Louis B. Mayer’s MGM, stewardesses were told how to stand, how to walk, how to style their hair, how to make themselves up. Their “look” was as polished as the marble in a corporate lobby, and quality control was no joke: a woman who flew for TWA remembers that, aside from garden-variety infractions such as forgetting one’s hat or getting caught smoking in uniform, stewardesses could be suspended if their milky complexions were darkened or freckled by too much time in the sun. A former Eastern Air Lines stew recalls being plucked from a flight for having a bruise on her leg, as if she had been a damaged piece of fruit blighting a grocery-store display.