ride to boston (lyn)

Get up early to make the 8:30 Bolt Bus up to Boston.  Though I had meant to pack light, my small suitcase and large tote do not reflect this plan.  I always take enough reading material in case we get stranded for a few days.  I bring few clothes, but the other stuff (DVD’s, books, magazines, water, thermos of coffee, three ice packs for the lobster meat I hope to bring home, an extra coat because the weather is supposed to be cold one day and warm the next, computer and charger, Kindle and charger, iPhone and charger) adds a lot of weight.

I leave my home about 7:30 and have a very chatty cab driver.  By the time I exit the cab, I know his entire life story and that of his three children and ex-wife.  I get to the stop so early that I’m able to make the 8 o’clock bus that I didn’t even know existed.

The bus is full except for one empty seat that has a backpack on it.  It is the front seat, so I ask the driver if it’s his.  He responds that it is, so I say, “I’m just going to put it in the overhead bin.”  “Oh no you’re not.  It stays on the seat.” I begin to argue with him and he suggests throwing me off the bus.  I don’t want another Bolt-bus incident so I move to a seat in the back.

I have my coffee, and am looking forward to the chocolate croissant I bought at Agata yesterday.  It’s a foggy morning and quite mystical. 

Soon, the man behind me is sound asleep, snoring so loudly that I hope he doesn’t distract the oh-so-nice driver.  The woman across the aisle is on her cell phone, where she is talking via some bluetooth devise so it looks like she is talking to herself.  Her conversation is loud, personal, and uninteresting.  And someone else has his music cranked up so loud that I can hear an irritating noise but no melody.  But the ride is costing me nothing (I earned enough Bolt Bus credits for a free ride) so I try and ignore the annoying sounds surrounding me.

Finally, we are cruising along.  Time for my croissant.  I search through my overflowing tote.  I take out my computer, my books, my magazines, my phone, my coffee thermos, my water, my Kindle, my papers.  It’s not there.  I am starving, having now been up for about two hours, and it’s a long ride to Boston.

Mercifully, the driver makes a stop at a McDonalds.  I haven’t been to one in many years.  But the 300-calorie egg McMuffin looks awfully good.  I get one and it is.