So remember two Fridays ago when I mentioned that I’d had the worst day of travel ever? And remember when just two seconds ago I wrote in the title of this entry that I’d had the worst day of travel ever? Well guess what? I had the worst day of travel ever, that past Wednesday.
It included the following things:
Babies, vomit and death.
If those aren’t the recipe for hilarity I don’t know what is.
Here’s the breakdown of what happened. I board the Acela Express train to Boston. It leaves at 10 and gets in at 1:30. I have a meeting at 1:45 and I’d rather not be late. I’d been out late the night before (surprise, surprise!) and I was sleeping as much as possible. I woke up to find the train at a full stop in the middle of nowhere.
After twenty minutes of NO movement a static-y voice announce that we had struck someone and we were going to be sitting still for a little while. The train was on time out for apparently complying with some poor guy’s wish to end his life in the most locomotive way possible.
Two hours we sat there, and of course I’d brought my book that I had only ten pages left to read in. Mistake on my part. Meanwhile the snarky snack salesman in the back of the train is making bank and doling out the sarcasm. When I asked him if he knew where we were he said, “A train, apparently.” I almost stabbed him in the eye with my beer straw.
So eventually I get to Boston, two and half hours late. Run to my meeting, truncate it to fifteen minutes and decide to head home via plane. I’d had plans for dinner with a friend but I had begun to start feeling a little nauseas, which I blamed on the rancid sausage egg and soggy bagel I’d gotten from Mr. Clever McSnacks on the train.
I get lucky and land a standby seat on a 6:00 back to New York. The instant we sit down the two fat kids behind me put on their headphones and start showing off the fact that they have no idea how loud their voices are. They wax poetic about the channel selections Jet Blue has to offer and even scream past my ear about how Spongebob is on.
Once the plane is in the air a baby screams and I feel the upward surge of a digestive revolt. Apparently some stomach flu had gotten into my system and started handing out leaflets that all my holes oughta just start spewing when we hit 20,000 feet.
The flight was about an hour. I spent half of that in the bathroom, the other half right behind a baby who was studying to play the part of Banshee in the next X-Men movie.
Worst day of travel. Ever.