April 19, 2004

A Pox Upon the Boston Marathon

...and all its sweaty progeny. I needed to do a ten-minute errand in Cambridge today. Total travelling time: three hours. Total number of trains I couldn't fit onto: three. Total number of misidentified trains I rode on and then had to go back and switch directions at the very worst possible time and place: one. (Hello, Arlington Station at 5:30pm.) Total number of train cars I rode on that had no AC and were filled with adrenaline-drunk marathoners: one. Total number of words that do not describe the smell: all of them.

Posted by hilatron at April 19, 2004 05:43 PM | TrackBack
Comments

Oh, poor Hilatron! I'm so sorry! Shall we send you roses and lilacs and lilies for your poor fevered nose?

Posted by: Doombot at April 19, 2004 07:20 PM

Doombot: is it possible that you are...MOCKING me and my need to have several hundred thousand people reschedule their treasured annual event to suit my whim?

I'm shocked. Shocked I tell you.

Posted by: Hilatron at April 19, 2004 08:33 PM

Not mocking, not mocking! No! Since I cannot offer a lace hankie dipped in Eau de Cologne, I offer . . . um . . . well, offer. Er.

Posted by: Doombot at April 19, 2004 09:55 PM

I managed to avoid them all. Of course I would have liked to actually have had the holiday off.

Posted by: EV at April 20, 2004 09:57 AM