A Dollar Short....

This morning, I parked my car, paid my meter with my sparkly shiny dollar coins and went to the other side of the train tracks to wait inside the train station out of the rain. As the train approaches, I open the door and head out to the train. There is a girl in front of me and a couple behind me. I hear a coin drop but think nothing of it since I don’t have any coinage on me…or at least I don’t think I do.

The man of the couple behind me picks up the coin and hands it to me. I say “Oh, I don’t think this is mine. Is it yours?” I ask to the girl in front of me. She tells me it’s not hers. I look back at the couple “It’s not yours?” They both agree that it’s not theirs either.

“Oh man! That means I am one short in the meter.” I say wishing I had parked on the inbound side instead of the outbound side so I could quickly feed the meter.

The woman of the couple assures me that she has shorted the meter a few times by accident, grabbing a quarter instead of a dollar coin and they haven’t given her a ticket.

EEK!! I guess we shall find out at the end of the day.

White Trash Facial on the Train

Last night was a special ride home. My friend and I grabbed a two seater facing another two seater. The seat across from us was empty until, this white trash fabulous couple (That is a combination of white trash and ghetto fabulous) sits there.  The girl has Uggs on. OK, Uggs are stupid. They are right up there with Shape Ups! No one thinks they are hot so stop wearing them…especially if they are saturated in street salt. PS, if you are going to wear them and they happen to get salt all on them, you can have them professionally cleaned at your local dry cleaners to make them more tolerable.

The girl starts picking at her face but stops after she pops a pimple. The guy on the other hand, picks at his pimpled face all the way from North Station to Anderson (and probably beyond that but I got off at Anderson yesterday because that’s where I left from that morning).

It was nasty. My friend and I are trying not to look…not for the sake of being polite, for the sake of us not losing our appetite for dinner. The girlfriend hands the guy a compact mirror and he is going to town on his face. The girlfriend then decides she can help him pop his pimple and dives in herself and starts extracting. They don’t have tissues. Just a compact so lord only knows where the “extractions” ended up. I am gagging thinking about it and can hardly keep down my morning hot cocoa as I type this.

Needless to say, don’t pop your pimples in public. The funny part is that we were right next to a bathroom. My friend and I were talking about how we wouldn’t use that bathroom as train commuters. However, as tourists, we might. Well, the white trash fabulous couple across from us couldn’t have been commuters so they could have popped in there to save us from having to look at their pimple extracted faces.

What did we learn today?

-          Don’t extract bodily fluids on the train.

-          Don’t extract your boyfriend’s bodily fluids on the train.

Spidey Sense on the Train

Friday I did a little shopping in Down Town Crossing for the holiday. I found this awesome Spider Man mask for my nephew*.  It looks so cool and has a button on the side of it that spits off 10 super hero sayings*. This thing was so cool. I read the age…Age 5 and up! My nephew is 3. I put it back on the shelf, stepped away and then remembered the year I got my Easy Bake Oven. It said for ages 8 and up. I was 6. My mom told me that Santa must think I am responsible to have brought me something two years beyond my age. I ran back to the shelf thinking “He’s responsible. He’s charismatics…charismatic kids need cool a*s Spider Man masks.”

Now fast forward to the train ride home. I make it to Wilmington without it going off. Then, my friend gets off and I scoot over in the seat and adjust my bags. All of a sudden you hear “Mask! Check! Web Shooters! Check! Crime Fighter…You know it!!” I am sitting facing two other woman and they look up immediately and are puzzled.

I quickly reach for the bag to stop the super hero from spouting out at the mouth but in doing so, I whack the button again. “ Whoa, my Spidey sense is tingling!” Now, not only are the two across from me staring at me, a few others start to look.

I smile at them and grab my phone to “look busy”. Plus, by having my hands away from the bag this mask was in, it stopped spouting off super hero phrases….untillllll, I had to get off the train. “Causin’ trouble? Spidey will track you down!!!” I am now in line waiting to get off the train. I lift my bag and say to the people staring at it “I got some Christmas shopping done today.” And smiled at them. They just giggled at me.

*Disclaimer & Note to Sister:

-Act surprised on Christmas

-Sorry about the noisy toy. I know the golden rule for parents is to not buy loud toys but I’m just the Auntie…

- Love youuu!!

Jinx!

Did I jinx myself by requesting a better commute on the way home tonight? I  just got an email that the orange line is experiencing delays due to a disabled train at North Station and I haven't gotten an "All Clear" email! Damn it! Just for this, I am eating chips in the quiet car once I get on the train! HUH!!!

Freezing Cold and Going Nowhere

There was a fire yesterday at North Station in their maintenance facility, delaying trains ahead of mine. I was smug and happy when I got to North Station and saw my train was on time. What I failed to realize was that since other trains were canceled, my train was packed.

I had had a busy day. The last thing I wanted to do was stand on an express train from North Station to the first stop at Anderson…20 ish minutes. The intercom goes on and it’s the conductor asking people to remove bags from seats so people can sit down. I look around and no one budges. Mainly because they already had moved their bags. Then I spotted a bag on a seat. I shimmied down the aisle through the crowd and said it loud and clear so I embarrassed this b*tch. “Can you please move your bag so I can sit?” She was stunned and gave me a death look but she moved her bag and I sat down. Sorry biotch! I paid for a seat. Your bag didn’t!

Then this morning. Negative three degrees out! There were people in hoodies at my stop. It’s three below! Where is your damn jacket you idiot? I see you every day so you clearly are a New Englander and know better!

Our train pulls in on time. However, there are signal problems and our train slows down to a crawl. I am happy I am on the train and not waiting in the freezing cold for it. We get in to North Station a whopping 30 minutes late. I then head to the T because I am not walking in this sh*t.

Well, that was everyone else’s idea and when I got down to the tracks, both the green line and the orange line were experiencing delays. The green line finally pulls in after 15 minutes and everyone waiting for the orange line runs over to the train. We don’t fit so we run to the middle of the waiting area and wait to see which line will come in first. We hear honking. An orange line train backs itself into the station and opens the doors of an empty train. We all run toward the train and hop on. Then we sat idling for a few minutes. Not sure why but we were on a train!

Finally we start moving and we go the two stops I need to go without a problem. I hop out at State Street and trek a few blocks in the cold. Let’s hope today’s ride home is smooth sailing after yesterday and todays mishaps.

Dance Dance Revolution

So, if you haven’t gathered already, I am NOT a morning person. Not one bit. This morning, I get on the train and sit on the bottom of the double decker. Hardly anyone is near me until we get to Anderson. People pile on and this couple sits across from me. They are sharing ear buds. Think of this…when you share ear buds, you are putting someone else’s earwax into your own ear. THINK….AH….BOUT…IT!!!

Anyway, they have the volume cranked. I try to tune it out and sip my coffee quietly but thennnn, they start dancing to it. I mean getting down and have matching dance moves. I am trying to tune them out along with the rest of the people around me but they continue on. They pretty much have their own dance-a-thon in their seat from Anderson to North Station.

I don’t mind that they are happy but at the crack-a*s of dawn, there is no need to be having a dance party on the MBTA while others are still trying to get out of the fog and sip their coffee.

So we recap:

·         Don’t have a dance-a-thon at the crack of dawn on the train.

·         Don’t put other people’s earwax in your own ears.

That is all!

Stomach Bug on the Commuter Rail

Oh the things you don’t think about until you are smack dab in the middle of a horrible situation.

Last Thursday at about 4pm I had this awful feeling come over me. It was my turn in the office to get the stomach bug. It was running ramped through our office and no matter how many times I sanitized my hands and went around with Lysol wipes to clean the door knobs and shared surfaces, I got it. I darted off to the ladies room so the poor janitors didn’t have to clean up my mess.

My initial thought was to go home immediately. Then I remembered that I had to go on the train…for nearly an hour…without a bathroom nearby…during rush hour. Mother F*cker! This sucks!! I thought about what I had eaten that day and figured that I’d wait to catch the train until I had rid my stomach of everything (GROSS! I know but what else are you gonna do?)

I sat at my desk and tried to get my reports done that are usually done Friday and get them out as fast as I could. I heard this bug lasted 24 hours so I didn’t plan on making the trek to Boston in the morning if I was still sick.

The longer I was running reports, the longer I had to worry about my trek home. I had a feeling it was going to be an utter disaster. I rummaged through my desk and found a paper DSW bag that I had stashed (I may or may not have a slight shoe addiction and the less my husband sees DSW bags coming through the door, the better). I contemplated lining the bag with plastic wrap but I thought that was a bit extreme. The bag was for an emergency and I didn’t want to jinx myself.

Around 5:30pm I left the office for the train station with my DSW paper bag at the top of my tote. I was feeling like I’d make it home but you never know once motion starts to happen.

I got on the 5:50pm train and it was packed. There was hardly anywhere to sit. I had seen a woman once scream at someone that she was “sick and contagious” and everyone scattered and gave her her own seat. I wasn’t about to do that in front of various people I have to see every day so I continue onward and hope to find a three seater with a middle and end seat open.

In the 4^th car, I finally find one and don’t have to scream at people that I could be sick and get them sick since this guy was at the window and we had a whole middle seat in between us. AND lucky me, he got off at the first stop and I had the entire three seater to myself after that.

I did manage to get to my stop without being sick. However, it never dawned on me in the almost 3 years of train commuting that I could get sick and not have anywhere but the floor in front of me to do it on.

Oh, the things you don’t think about until you are in quite the predicament

Hitting Your Head and Supportive Shoes

So, I got a new phone. There is an app that tracks my steps throughout the day. I know I walk a lot and have always been curious as to how far I actually do walk in a day. I set up the app and try to remember to carry my phone EVERYWHERE! Yesterday, I did just that. I left my phone on my desk a few times when I went to the water cooler but all in all I’d say it was as close to accurate as I was going to get since I don’t want to carry my 20 pound purse to the water cooler or around the office to get stuff.

Well, I walked 10,006 steps. Roughly 5.2 miles!! I got thinking, most of those steps are between my office and North Station and some are on my break when I go for a little jaunt. I wear ballet flats or riding boots during those times and I thought to myself “I should be wearing some shoes with support.” Think about it, about 4 of those miles are in non-supportive shoes. No wonder my feet hurt. It’s not the stiletto’s I sashay around the office in, It’s the flat bottomed ballet shoes. I do have a “gellin’” insert in my riding boots but I can’t fit a “gellin’” insert in the ballet flats.

I google “ballet flats with support”. Ok, bad idea! Numero uno site that pops up: LL Bean! Another site pops up with Dr. Scholl’s shoes. Those shoes are JUST shy of the “Working Girl” look from the 80’s with sneakers and slouchy socks! WHY! Why are all ballet flats with support hideous!? I get it and my mother says this all the time “Pain is beauty.” Well, my feet hurt and I still want beauty so what gives?

I think someone needs to invent stylish, supportive shoes. It’s not that hard. Maybe I should invent them!

On a separate note: Who has hit their head on the new double decker racks? I have. Yesterday, someone wacked his head on the rack and everyone asked if he was “OK” and then everyone comforted him in telling him that they have done it too.

Sidewalk Road Kill

This morning as I make my way out of North Station and on to the sidewalk, I feel something squishy under my shoe. I cringe and think to myself “How could I have stepped in dog sh*t twice in one day?” (I had stepped in my neighbor’s dog sh*t on the sidewalk earlier this morning on my walk with my dog. Luckily it was the beginning of our walk so I could smear it off in various grassy spots.  Quick note to husband: Don’t worry Hunny, it was all gone before I entered the house and I didn’t track it in the house on to our precious hard wood floors.) I lift my foot to look at the damage and to my grotesque surprise, I did not step in dog sh*t, I stepped on a dead, bloody mouse. My winter white ballet flat was smeared with mouse guts.

 I try my best not to gag and am not sure what to do. There is no grassy spot to wipe my foot on. There are no puddles nearby. Gag! Gag! Gag!

I tell myself not to think about it. I have a mile ahead of me to get this little sucker off my shoe. I start by limping but quickly tell myself that there is nothing wrong with my foot and I just look like an idiot so I straighten up and walked normal.

A mile later, this little guy is gone but I still know he was there. When I get to my office, I take one of those double sided, gritty Lysol wipes to the bottom of both shoes to be on the safe side. I tuck my flats under my desk and switch to my non-mouse-gut office stiletto’s that have only touched the outside world once because I had to do twist and shout dance moves on the  sidewalk to scuff up the bottom so I wouldn’t fall flat on my face on the carpet in the office.

Oh the joys of commuting in the city!