SO MUCH FOR THE NIGHTLIFE

A while back, in mentioning how I'm far too sophisticated to fall for trendy chain bars during my frequent nights out on the town (but not sophisticated enough to avoid aging ex-Monkees), I mentioned that the local Burger King had a bitchin' ball room.

It also has a bitchin' SWAT team.

Let me explain. I was there with the kids on a Saturday night, at the incredibly dangerous hour of 6:30 p.m., when no one but the toughest soccer moms and ballet dads ply the mean streets of Reston(tm) in their nitrous-boosted minivans, playing Boyz N the Hood on their in-seat DVD players. We got our sackfuls of crappy food and sat down in the glassed-off play area, and before you could say "supersize me," about a dozen cops wearing bulletproof vests with STATE POLICE, ANTI-GANG UNIT and SHERIFF’S DEPT in block lettering on their backs started pouring into the store through two or three different doors. This being anal-retentive, homeowner association-obsessed Reston(tm), I immediately wondered if I had painted the trim on my house the wrong shade of battleship gray, but they made a beeline for some other guy and pinned his neck to the side of a crappy plastic booth, then cuffed him and dragged him out. So it was serious. He must have put plastic lawn statuary in his yard.

All joking aside, this would have been frightening, except that like in some bad movie you might see at 2 a.m. on basic cable, the kids had their back to the whole scene of bedlam and were utterly and completely oblivious to what was happening. I watched the whole scene unfold over their shoulders as they scarfed down their chicken nuggets.

So to all my smug, urban friends who mock our simple lives in the outer boroughs, I say this: come hang out with me one night. You might see some stuff go down, and even if you don't, there's a bitchin' Macaroni Grill at the Town Centre(tm).