I left NYC on Friday afternoon. On my way out of the building my irrational fear of revolving doors proved merited when I got stuck (and nearly crushed) in one. Scary. It's another story for another time, but be warned. It can happen. It's totally acceptable for you to be afraid. Be very very afraid.
On my way back to Boston, I was filled with this weird feeling. Almost the feeling you have when you're going home for Christmas. Excited. Warm and fuzzy. I hadn't predicted this. Maybe it was just fall playing tricks on me.
When I got to South Station I was waiting for my food when I was approached by a very drunk man who slurred "Whasssss wrong with people?" "Excuse me?" "Whassssss wrong. With. PEOPLE." I said "People suck, man." He said something or other about wanting to use my cell phone and I didn't let him. When I looked at him, I realized his face was bleeding profusely. He stank of alcohol. He was wearing a Red Sox sweatshirt. He was cross with me for not allowing him to use my phone, so in retaliation he stole the tip jars from the grille. The manager of the place jumped over the counter to get the tip jar back from the man who was now harrassing the people at McDonald's. When the manager came back, we were all rolling our eyes because it was quite funny. I said "Man, I just moved a month and a half ago to NYC, I just got back, and this is the first person I talk to!" The man explained that there was a lot of this sort of thing going on since the Sox won - drunken bizarreness, basically. When I got my food, the manager said "Welcome home, sweetie!"
My friend RP picked me up from the Davis Square T station after which I quickly transformed into Estelle, the crazy old widow who bowls. We went to my friend G's house in Waltham for a party. It was surreal to see everyone and even more surreal to see everyone in costume. My favorite was BKNY as Oates (of Hall and Oates). We had way too much fun doing a photo shoot and making fun of G's dresser, on which he had a doylie (is that how you spell it? I've never had to write it before, because when would you ever have occasion to make reference to a doylie?). It was almost as though I hadn't moved. I realized that I really miss a few people, but overall it was fairly normal.
It was normal up until the point when I tried to leave and realized my glasses had fallen out of my camera bag. I couldn't see (obviously) and started living my nightmare in which my glasses are missing and I am freaking out and nobody seems to care. Seriously, folks, people were not in a crisis about this but this was a crisis! The glasses were not in the bag, nor were they anywhere around the bag. And the bag hadn't been moved, so where could they be? I was fairly certain nobody had stolen the glasses, because who would steal glasses?, but I was starting to panic because there was no reasonable location for the glasses since they weren't where they were supposed to be nor were they near where they were supposed to be. Nobody was helping, which I thought was mean because I couldn't see. I finally convinced JA that this was a crisis, and she used her perfect vision to help me find them. She found them across the room under a couch, and they were totally deformed. Completely deformed. Couldn't even put them on my face.
Panic. People were all "Hey, man, what's the big deal? Just have em fixed."
No. No no no!!! Do people not understand what its like to be blind? Yes, I could have them fixed, presumably the following day, but still! What if the only optician's I knew in Boston wasn't open? There was no way I was getting them fixed before the parade, so that sucked. It also meant great headaches and confusion. And if I couldn't get them fixed at all, that meant going back to NY early, but how would I even get home without being able to read signs? Panic panic panic.
I was so flustered that I left my new coat at the party. I remembered in time, and was like "Shit! My coat!" and everyone was like "Why don't you just go back and get it?" and I'm like "Because I can't see a damn thing!" I begged someone to go back and get it, because my head was throbbing and I was trying not to cry about missing the parade.
In the car on the way home with normal lighting and increasing sobriety, I decided to just fix them myself and take the risk, because the parade was worth it. And I sort of fixed them. Well, I can wear them. They're a little crooked which leads to little headaches, but whatever. I will find a place in NY soon enough and have them truly fixed.
Got back to Good Old Hall Street at around 2 or so and basically felt like I hadn't moved. I hung out with A and B for hours in the kitchen, just like the old days, where we caught up and entertained each other with various stories of strangers on the street and the old stand-by, SuperFly. Obviously I had an entirely new arsenal of SuperFly stories that had my former roommates in stitches. I really do miss them.
Got about three hours sleep (Good Old Hall Street and the lack of heat!) and got up for the parade.
1 comment:
"Doily."
Which you would know if you read as much L.M. Montgomery as I did.
M
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