I have never encountered more snags and silly stresses in basic travel than when travelling with Christian. He says he’s never had this much trouble except when with me. Are our travel juices mixing to create a disastrous formula? Considering I’ve been to Europe and the BVI’s, all over the US and Mexico and he’s never set foot out of the country, I’m more than happy to blame him. Besides, I wasn’t with him Friday when he had one of his worst airport experiences.
Part of it, though, is that he gets very riled up at the smallest hiccups whereas I tend to just stay silent and think, “Hmm, this sucks, ooh, that coffee smells good. I wish I had coffee. My ass itches. If I lean up against that pole I can scratch it unnoticed, but will that pole leave schmutz on my pants?” You get the idea.
I think the Travel Gods look down on him and think, “Let’s halt all subway service into Manhattan. Can you just picture the fury on his face? MMWWAHAHAHA!”
When they see me, they think, “Aaah, why bother? She’ll just meet a taxi driver willing to drive her to Manhattan in exchange for a Stoli light up pen because he’s already headed to Manhattan, and why should he charge her for a trip he’s going to take with or without her?”
I suggested Finnegan make a sacrifice to the Travel Gods: like buy a Metro Card and give it to a migrant worker. He queried, “But what if I do that and then my travel karma doesn’t change? Can you imagine how pissed I’d be then?!?!”
See. He’s destined for delays. You just have to trust that when you put the goodness out there, it will come back not to smack you but kiss you lightly on the lips and ask, “Mmmm, is that Dentyne Arctic Chill? It is?!?! Then, please accept this first class upgrade. I insist.”
Honestely, though, the MTA can suck my dick.**
**Just kidding, MTA God!