It's been a while since I've shared a tale from the always amusing T, and while I was getting to second base with two different people at once on the horrendously overcrowded train the other morning, I was reminded of a story I wanted to share that had completely slipped my mind!
Two Thursdays ago, my office decided to host a Ben &Jerry's afternoon at the office. Around 2:30 they called us down to the kitchen where B&J's has set up a spread for sundaes. Of course, I was thrilled, but also fully expecting to fall ill after gorging myself. I've begun limiting my dairy and in the last weeks an overindulgence has prompted symptoms ranging from leg cramps to extreme stomach aches and now. . .this story. (Ok, I don't know if it's actually the dairy, or I'm just a whacko. . .I like to think it's the former.)
After the intense sugar rush this mid afternoon treat provided, I found myself crashing around 4 o'clock or so. My stomach hurt and I could barely keep my eyes open. Finally 5 arrived and I schlepped along to the T station. It gets a bit fuzzy after that but I do remember waiting as a few trains went by (not my line) and then I remember a train approaching and jostling ahead to the door with the other commuters. At this point, I know I took pause to wonder why this guy who is always on my train with me wasn't getting on, but figured maybe he had other plans that day (not to mention, is it really any of my business which trains he takes?). And here is where our story begins:
I get on the train, elbow my way to a single seat by the window snuggle up against the plexiglass and promptly nod off into a sleepy haze, the likes of which only the combination of AmeriCone Dream and the rumbling T can produce. A few times, I pry my eyes open to see where we are, but we were still underground, so I let myself fall deeper into sleep, knowing a certain sharp curve on my line will jolt me awake before my stop.
Finally, though, as the T flies out of the tunnel and the car is overwhelmed with afternoon light, I decide to open my eyes and look around. Immediately, I know something is wrong. This isn't the first above ground stop on my train. Where are we? A few sections later, the sign at the T stop registers: "Fenway".
"What the. . .?" is my response as I sit straighter and try to piece together what's going on. The train must have changed lines sometime underground I surmise. Obviously. (Here, I take pause to tell you this has only ever happened to me once, during an insane Red Sox game day and there was NO WAY anyone would have slept through that joke of a situation) As we pull away from Fenway, my sleep clogged brain finally realizes I'm on the D line NOT the B line and unless I want to end up in Newton, I need to get off at the next stop, get back on going the opposite way to get back underground where the lines merge to get on my own line and head out above ground again on the right train. oy. I can only imagine what I must look like to the other passengers as I drag myself off the train. Hair wildly askew, bags thrown carelessly over my shoulder, face red from the stale air of the train. A sight, for sure. In a moment of further craziness, my pride doesn't allow me to directly cross the tracks to the other side so that everyone on the train and at the platforms knows what an idiot I am. Thus, I walk down a ramp like I'm leaving the platform and then once the train has pulled out, double back and casually walk over to the other side as if I just arrived. Half an hour later, I arrive at my real stop and make my way home.
Apparently overindulging on some of the richest ice cream ever invented mid workday is a terrible idea (why do I feel like a lot of my adventures end with this final thought)
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