On most occasions, Washington's subway system -- also known as the Metro -- operates at an acceptable level of competency. Sure, the trains run infrequently, the escalators are always broken, and your SmarTrip card fucks up only when there is a line of savage Montgomery County commuters behind you. But the Metro almost always gets you where you need to be. Just don't expect to be on time.

That said, I didn't expect last night's Metro ride from the Washington Monument to Friendship Heights to be smooth sailing, since I was evacuating Screen on the Green along with 8,000 other Metro-bound people. But at least it wouldn't be as bad as the Fourth of July, when I huddled in line for two hours at the Federal Triangle station next to a lazy-eyed hick from Virginia (my boyfriend told me the guy was actually blind, so now I feel bad) and a shrill Mexican woman who used her 37 children as battering rams against the crowd.

Well, I thought it wouldn't be as bad as the Fourth of July. Clearly, I was mistaken. Last night's Metro ride was so bad that I briefly considered homicide as an effective remedy to an otherwise tortuous subterranean journey. Let me explain.

Each summer, Screen on the Green attracts thousands of Washington residents with "classic" movies (read: Jailhouse Rock) shown on a giant screen in front of the Washington Monument. It's a lot of fun -- you set up a blanket, eat a picnic lunch, and drink just enough wine to tolerate the folks from Virginia that dance during the musical sequences, thereby obstructing your view (these are the same ass-clowns that applaud in movie theaters, if you were curious).

Anyway, the screening of Jailhouse Rock was awesome, and I really liked the film. Seriously! I swear. Everything was fine until my friends and I found ourselves on the platform of the Smithsonian station, squeezed into a sea of northbound assholes.

The problem started with my red book bag. It's from Kenneth Cole, but it screams JanSport. I look like a third grader on his first day of school whenever I wear it, but what the fuck, I don't care. Last night, my red bag was filled with empty Glad containers, a blanket and cigarettes.

Like my book bag, the platform was filled to capacity. I was afraid someone would get pushed in front of an oncoming train, which would have been initially amusing but ultimately inconveniencing to myself and others. But I digress.

Getting to the point: the girl behind me had a problem with my book bag. Not a "pardon me, I'm trying to squeeze through" sort of problem. More like a "you godless pig fucker, you've just massacred my children and raped my mother" sort of problem. She flipped out at me. In a big way.

"EXCUSE ME, YOUR BOOK BAG KEEPS HITTING ME IN THE ARM, PLEASE STOP IT."

"There are a lot of people on this platform. Deal with it."

"I SHOULDN'T HAVE TO DEAL WITH YOUR BAG SLAMMING INTO MY ARM."

"What do you want me to do? Take it off? I can't even move my fucking arms, how could it be slamming into you?!"

"THAT'S IT! I'M MOVING! I CAN'T DEAL WITH THIS! YOUR BAG KEEPS HITTING ME!!!"

I could have ended the conversation here, but I did not. Oh, no. I kept going. I brought our dispute to another level of social discordance. She started this game, and I play to win.

"Your fat ass keeps getting in my way," I began, "but do I ask you to take that off?"

This struck my accuser silent but prompted another fat-face to chime in with bitchy bons mots of her own.

"JUST TAKE THE DAMN BAG OFF! I TOOK MY BAG OFF! IT'S RIGHT BETWEEN MY LEGS!" She then pointed to her bag on the floor.

I'm sorry, but who the fuck did she think she was? Like a chronically depressed and overweight Wal-Mart associate coming home to his ravaged wife in bed with cousin Earl, I was ready to smack this bitch up.

"You know what?" The woman looked at me with disdain, though there was no way she could have braced herself for what I had to say. "I have something I could put between your legs."

And just like that, the train arrived, we were herded aboard, and I never saw the two women again.

Remainders: More Metro horror stories here