My alarm went off at 5. Five-o-clock. AM. In the morning. I had to leave by six in the morning. Ante Meridiem if you will. The sun wasn't out, but when I hit 270 towards DC, I was surprised at the number of cars that were there, driving into the sun rising over the circumference of D.C. that forgets which side the gas pedal is on. With the metro running how it was, and me unsure of where to park, I just barely made it to my train.
At this point, my appetite for breakfast had not even been close to satisfied. My bagel from Sheetz was dry and disappointing, so I traded it in at the train station for some crackers. Big surprise, they were even more dry. I opted for the least-beaten-up apple at Primo Cappuccino which wasn't dry and surprisingly tasty. It made up for what would be my lunch. A hot dog microwaved for 45 seconds and a bag of potato chips.
I know none of you care about this, but as my stomach growls and becomes more and more hungry, all I can really think about is food. And the delicious peanut butter cookies I made for Christmas and brought from home for my journey.
There was a man on the metro who creeped me out. Big surprise. At first, I thought perhaps he indulged in a poppy seed bagel for breakfast and was checking his teeth for renegade poppies. This is completely explainable on the metro in the slightly-reflective plasticglass at seven in the morning. He was, indeed, conversing with his reflection and digging into his pockets like any great movie psychopath. In the anxiety I've had over the past two or three days, I almost hopped off the train in Bethesda and got back on the train three minutes behind. Almost. Yet again, my anxiety was proven wrong, and he was just feeling a little chatty and exited the train when we got to Tenleytown.
In my observations on the Northeast Regional over the past two weeks, I've discovered a slightly more normal passenger group than on the Capitol Limited or the Texas Eagle. Perhaps it is because of the larger number of business people trying to get here from there - but it makes for poor people watching. The only real hilarity on the ride up here was one of the assistant conductors. Conversation to follow.
"What's the stop right before Providence?" I ask, needing to know so my dad could come get me.
"I don't know," conductor says proudly, "I get off at New York. What is it?"
Blank stare, trying to figure out if he really just re-asked me my question teacher-style or if I'm just showing early signs of sleep deprivation.
"I think it's Kingston, is that right?"
Blank stare continues as the assistant conductor pulls out a piece of paper.
"Kingston, yes, Kingston, Rhode Island is before Providence. That sounds about right doesn't it?"
"Um. Great."
I'm so lucky I made it here and did not end up in a) Boston or b) standing on a curbside in unfamiliar downtown Providence for any extended period of time.
We're waiting on my cousin to head out to dinner. In the meantime, I think I'll have another cookie.
On a side note: my grandmother always said that if you couldn't laugh you would cry. Her sentiments are getting me through all of this, her sentiments and the poor, lost assistant conductor.
No comments:
Post a Comment