Whoever the new voice-over non-automatic voice-over man at Back Bay Station is at around 5:25 PM, I think I am in love. Where once there was a woman with little humor, now there is a man with a great deal of it. Even if he wasn't any more helpful than previous commuter rail announcer lady, he made a Friday rush hour delay into a bit of a lark with phrases such as:
"Stoughton train is just sittin' at South Station not going anywhere."
"Stoughton train boarding next on Track 3, I hope. (pause) Please ask the conductor what train it is before boarding."
"If all goes well, the Acela Express will board next on track 1."*
Speaking of a bit of a lark--my reward for recyling (in the spanking new mother of all recycle bins...if I don't decide to renew my lease, it's probably big enough for most of my possessions and my short little self) the moment that I got home from the Friday work rush was a facial wound caused by a renegade sparrow of some sort. I'm just hoping it's not a West Nile renegade sparrow.
Still in my "conservative corporate casual" attire (a la Ann Taylor Loft and Old Navy instead of Ann Taylor the Official and Banana Republic), I carried my recycling out to christen the new recycling bins with copious amounts of empty seltzer cans. I lifted the lid. I dropped my bag 'o cans. I felt Willy the Sparrow (Feature Film for Families anyone?) thwack my face before I saw him coming. Apparently, he was lurking in the bush next to the giant recycling bin waiting for an environmentally friendly victim to come along and fall prey to his evil beak of doom.
It's a good thing I have a pretty durable face. I've been left with merely a scratch from where Willy the Sparrow launched his attack. I saw him fly off into the back yard. Probably to return to his Sparrow brethren and tell them how his plot to thwart Al Gore is moving forward nicely.
Seriously, though--a BIRD CUT MY FACE!
I'm sorry Audubon Society, I have a valid reason to not give you a donation ever again (you can take away the "again" part if you want to get technical).
Friday, July 25, 2008
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Welcome back to the Spirit of America
I was in Prince Edward Island yesterday morning. Things are green there. Oh, so green. And peaceful. And just...lovely. This is a fact that keeps running around my brain in potentially record-setting laps--and also a bit of knowledge that only enhanced my city-dwelling misery today.
It all started with wearing the wrong shoes. I left in a hurry this morning for my first day back at work (after an all too fleeting vacation), and slipped on a pair of shoes that didn't match. On the train, I noticed that there was a giant stain on the upper right bosom area of my dress.
These would have been trivial inconveniences on a normal day. But tonight I was meeting with a friend. A male friend. The kind of male friend who pays for my meal and holds the car door for me, and not the kind of male friend who considers me asexual and/or has similar taste in shoes as I do.
Halfway through the day, I went to use the restroom and discovered, much to my chagrin, that my good ole period decided to make itself known.
I should have mentioned that I was wearing a white dress.
Incredibly, the situation hadn't gone beyond all hope. I remedied it. I still had mismatched shoes, and the boob stain was still there, but at least I didn't have the Red Red Robin Beep Bop a Lobbin Along my backside.
My friend was leaving on the last bus home from South Station at 6:15. I get out of work at 5:15, and learned via mbta.com that I could pick up the Providence line to South Station at Back Bay at 5:27, which would give us a little less than 45 minutes to grab a quick bite in the station and see one another (this friend lives out of state, you see, until September). I waited. And waited.
I text messaged him to say that the train was running late, but since they hadn't made an announcement, it wouldn't be long.
Five minutes later, an Acela Express seemed to be stuck on our tracks.
He called. Apparently, I sent the text to a wrong number. He was still waiting for me, wondering where I was. I explained the situation, but said I'd be there as soon as I could--and the train pulled in.
I boarded. I waited. I was informed that the train would be canceled, and to take the T instead. An option I didn't consider earlier, because even if it was a bit late, the commuter rail would be much faster than taking the Orange Line and then changing lines at Park Street to the station.
It was now 5:55. There was no way to get to him. I called to tell him I couldn't make it.
I should mention now that had he not been waiting to see me, he could have left Boston at noon.
So I went, sticky from the heat, needing some aspirin something terrible, over to the other track to await the 6:00 train home.
No such luck. Not only were several trains of delayed passengers waiting in the oppressive platform air, but our train was announced to be 15-20 minutes late.
I grumbled, but I waited. And my phone rang. It turned out to be some guy named Ryan. Whose number I mistakingly text messaged. He told me that I sounded "hot." I spent the first half of the conversation thinking he was my brother (who shares a name with the boy I was seeing that evening), so I thought he was just being a prankster. And then I realized it was not, in fact, my brother.
He sent me a text message that had his picture on it.
At 6:30, the train pulled in to take me home. The A/C wasn't working.
To sum things up:
-Left the house looking bad, returned to the house 11.5 hours later feeling worse.
I need my rice and beans to finish cooking so I can eat. That's another thing. Because I was away, I have no food in the house.
Oh, PEI, how I miss thy blue skies and green fields and red cliffs and fresh air and strangers who initiate conversations that don't involve asking for money or explaining, in no uncertain terms, how they would "tap" me.
It all started with wearing the wrong shoes. I left in a hurry this morning for my first day back at work (after an all too fleeting vacation), and slipped on a pair of shoes that didn't match. On the train, I noticed that there was a giant stain on the upper right bosom area of my dress.
These would have been trivial inconveniences on a normal day. But tonight I was meeting with a friend. A male friend. The kind of male friend who pays for my meal and holds the car door for me, and not the kind of male friend who considers me asexual and/or has similar taste in shoes as I do.
Halfway through the day, I went to use the restroom and discovered, much to my chagrin, that my good ole period decided to make itself known.
I should have mentioned that I was wearing a white dress.
Incredibly, the situation hadn't gone beyond all hope. I remedied it. I still had mismatched shoes, and the boob stain was still there, but at least I didn't have the Red Red Robin Beep Bop a Lobbin Along my backside.
My friend was leaving on the last bus home from South Station at 6:15. I get out of work at 5:15, and learned via mbta.com that I could pick up the Providence line to South Station at Back Bay at 5:27, which would give us a little less than 45 minutes to grab a quick bite in the station and see one another (this friend lives out of state, you see, until September). I waited. And waited.
I text messaged him to say that the train was running late, but since they hadn't made an announcement, it wouldn't be long.
Five minutes later, an Acela Express seemed to be stuck on our tracks.
He called. Apparently, I sent the text to a wrong number. He was still waiting for me, wondering where I was. I explained the situation, but said I'd be there as soon as I could--and the train pulled in.
I boarded. I waited. I was informed that the train would be canceled, and to take the T instead. An option I didn't consider earlier, because even if it was a bit late, the commuter rail would be much faster than taking the Orange Line and then changing lines at Park Street to the station.
It was now 5:55. There was no way to get to him. I called to tell him I couldn't make it.
I should mention now that had he not been waiting to see me, he could have left Boston at noon.
So I went, sticky from the heat, needing some aspirin something terrible, over to the other track to await the 6:00 train home.
No such luck. Not only were several trains of delayed passengers waiting in the oppressive platform air, but our train was announced to be 15-20 minutes late.
I grumbled, but I waited. And my phone rang. It turned out to be some guy named Ryan. Whose number I mistakingly text messaged. He told me that I sounded "hot." I spent the first half of the conversation thinking he was my brother (who shares a name with the boy I was seeing that evening), so I thought he was just being a prankster. And then I realized it was not, in fact, my brother.
He sent me a text message that had his picture on it.
At 6:30, the train pulled in to take me home. The A/C wasn't working.
To sum things up:
-Left the house looking bad, returned to the house 11.5 hours later feeling worse.
I need my rice and beans to finish cooking so I can eat. That's another thing. Because I was away, I have no food in the house.
Oh, PEI, how I miss thy blue skies and green fields and red cliffs and fresh air and strangers who initiate conversations that don't involve asking for money or explaining, in no uncertain terms, how they would "tap" me.
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