Let's start with a list, shall we?
- Time it took to get to Philly: 6 hours
- Time it took to get back: 5 1/2 hours
- Total number of miles driven: approximately 700
- Number of times I took a wrong turn: two
- Number of songs I listened to: about 150.
- Number of times I stopped: Once, each way (more on this later)
- Number of beers I drank over the weekend: Um... a lot?
- Number of shots: One. My mom may have raised me crazy, but she didn't raise no suicide.
- Number of baseball games I watched: 3 (2 Phillies games, 2 Red Sox games)
- Number of games I listened to: 1 (Red Sox)
- Of those games, the number of games where the home team won: One. GODDAMNIT!
- Number of cheesesteaks I ate: 2 (oof!)
Let's talk about the break I took. I tried desperately to drive all the way down there without stopping, because I didn't want to get in too late. But since I can't drive anywhere without guzzling iced tea, eventually the pressure in my groinal area became too much. Plus, I was getting hungry. So I'm cruising down 684 in Connecticut, and finally I give in. I see a sign on the side of the highway that says "Burger King, Dunkin' Donuts, exit 4". So I think - sweet! Burger King has a bathroom, and burgers, two things I need right now. Perfect, right?
Here's a rule: If you're going to put a sign up by the highway advertising food, or gas, or any type of service... it should be visible right after you exit the highway.
Because I had to go to the bathroom. Real bad. And this Burger King? I drove for TEN MILES without seeing it. There were signs every 3 or 4 miles that said Burger King, straight ahead! And guess what? NO FUCKING BURGER KING. So now I'm driving through some dipshit little town in the middle of the worst state in New England (note: Connecticut sucks. It blows. It sucks and blows. It's nothing but endless highway, white trash, casinos and Yankees fans. It's a fucking nightmare. They should just pave the whole goddamn thing). I am losing my mind. The need to pee, coupled with my fury at this town for falsely advertising a Burger King, and I'm about to park the car in the middle of the road and knock someone out. And then pee on them.
Finally, I find a Dunkin' Donuts. I bolt out of the car, use their bathroom before I reach critical mass. I've now given up on the Burger King, so I figure I'll get a bagel and get out of there. And then this conversation takes place:
Store Employee: Can I help you?
TK: Yes, may I have an onion bagel with cream cheese on it?
TK: No, just plain, with the cream cheese on it.
SE: Do you want the cream cheese on the side?
TK: ... No. I'd like the cream cheese on it.
SE: You want the cream cheese on the bagel?
TK: (urge... to kill... rising) Yes. Please.
SE: Would you like the bagel toasted?
And I turned around and walked out, without another word. It was either that or I'm posting this from prison after getting arrested for beating someone to death with a toaster. Only Connecticut could make me hate the greatest chain restaurant ever. Because while I love me some Dunkies, but this one I wanted to firebomb. So I just got back in the car and tore ass out of that town, while roaring "THIS IS THE WORST TOWN IN AMERICA! I HATE YOU ALL!"
Anyway. We didn't get to go to the Phillies game on Saturday, because it was sold out. I know, I was surprised too. But there it is. A Phillies game sold out. The words looks weird when you put them together, don't they? Instead we went to a bar in Conshohocken (just outside of Philly) and watched them lose to the Mets. And in doing so, I got to reacquaint myself with just how miserable Philly fans are. I forget sometimes. I forget that when my wife gives up on a season after two innings, or when my friend Bret goes on a rampage after six games of a 156 games season, that it's not just them. It's everyone. My God, it's depressing. Philly fans are like abused dogs. They just get kicked around, but they keep coming back for more. I told one guy at the bar that I was from Boston, and his response?
"What's it like? Winning, I mean. What's it like? Fuck, man, it must be wonderful, huh? God, I wish..."
And he was being completely sincere. I thought he was going to start crying. It was like describing water to a man dying of thirst. I legitimately felt bad for them. I wanted to put him out of his misery. I felt like George at the end of Of Mice and Men, talking to Lenny.
"Tell me 'bout the rabbits, George?"
Anyway, the trip was a good one. I think I successfully cheered my friend up, if only for a few days. I had lunch with the in-laws, which is always fun. I brought home some locally brewed beers, though I did break one bottle. But it's good to be back.