Despite my wanderlust, earthlings, I am not a traveler. I wish I were, I do. It is a great source of embarrassment to me that I, one who probably too frequently voices my love for “travel,” cannot HANDLE the one and a half hour ride from Grand Central to Brewster Village on Metro-North.
I should clarify: I love “travel” in that douche-y way that rich people who want to feel more worldly do. My version of this is generally a tight budget version in which I go places with no plan, no language skills, and nearly wind up getting murdered (yeah, I wish I was kidding). Also, my endeavors have less to do with feeling more worldly (cause I already am) and more to do with embarrassing myself in public and completing my maniacal quest to take over the world. In that sense, hell yes, I am a traveler. In the sense of sitting patiently while a machine transports my body to a different space and time, no. NO, I am not. The mere thought of getting on a train packed full of cranky people makes me, well, CRANKY. So it goes.
I’ve prepared a short list (YAY! Lists!) of things for you to be excited about when traveling:
1) There will never, never I tell you, not be a funky smell. Examples of things I’ve actually said to people re: smells: Cars: “That cab smelled like balloons,” Airplanes: “Do you smell the poopy,” and Trains: “Tuna fish….Really? Tuna fish.”
2) One or a combination of the following people will be on your mode of transportation:
- The drunkard. The drunkard has probably lost all his friends and family and now spends his time riding around on public transport unabashedly drinking gin or moonshine or … rubbing alcohol. The drunkard has no shame. Sometimes the drunkard will attempt to talk to you. Do not fear. This is actually the greatest thing that’s ever happened to you. The drunkard has no idea what’s happening. Have fun.
- The woman who has no idea how to control her children, for the purposes of this story, we shall call her Tara. Tara probably got knocked up because some dude convinced her that the only way you can get pregnant is if you eat a healthy diet of Cheerios and only have sex in the missionary position. Tara doesn’t know how to control her kids, who absolutely hate her. She also doesn’t care because she’s on her cell phone with Barb from Pilates. This results in her devil spawn running up and down the isles hitting you with a wiffleball bat. If you’re wondering, you ARE totally allowed to discipline this kid.
- The loud talker. Self-explanatory. No one wants to hear about your quest for the perfect Crockpot. They may be talking about something inappropriate or self important, but most frequently about an absolutely menial task that they for some reason are finding extremely difficult.
- The one with the smelly food. What? What the hell? Are you eating a fermented egg? Why are you doing that? At which point your brain will simply malfunction and you’ll stare vacantly into space for hours and forget where you are, what you’re doing, WHO you are, etc.
- Stinky Steve. Stinky Steve has a hard time controlling his bodily functions. He either missed that part in… life… when you learn that it’s rude to fart and burp in public. He might not be potty trained. It’s not possible to tell. Sometimes, Stinky Stever is also the one with the smelly food. In this case, you’ve got yourself a jackpot.
3) Mechanical Malfunctions. Preferably in the least convenient way possible. Like your train losing power and stopping dead in the tunnel of Grand Central Station on the hottest day of the year.
4) Sometimes, you just get motion sickness and forget your Dramamine and there’s nothing you can do but SUFFER and prepare your own obituary.
5) (OPTIONAL: If you’re neurotic like me…) You get to imagine all of the possible ways that whatever mode of travel you are taking can kill you. My personal favorite scenarios are, in no particular order: Dramatic train derailments off cliffs (not sure where the cliffs are? Shut up. IT HAPPENS OKAY?!); Horrendous firey, firey plane crashes that you survive only to live on a magical island with smoke monsters; and maybe one of those horror story car crashes where careless driving results in a terrible crash where a poor innocent girl (ME) gets her legs stuck under a dashboard of a car that has burst into flames and can’t get out. Then you get to take a BUNCH of Lorezopram, so it’s ok!
The thing about travel is, no matter how much it sucks, the destination is always worth it. Collective awwww. Ok that’s enough of the feelings.
Happy thanksgiving!
P.S. Maybe next time I won’t write about how shitty train rides are…also maybe I won’t make a list… I see a theme happening here. I should change the name of this blog to “Musings on Metro North.
