When you wear a Phillies shirt while flying to Philadelphia via Cleveland on the day after the Phillies have won the World Series, you get a lot of good attention. So much so that it doesn't matter that you've only gotten two hours of sleep and are traveling halfway across the country falling asleep at every down moment -- it ends up being a good day anyway.
When you try to fly out of Philadelphia on the day of the celebratory parade, however, and the whole city is in a public transportation panic, things are not as fun. Not even if you are wearing a Phillies shirt.
When the buses forsake you and never show, despite the SEPTA website saying everything is hunky-dory, when the line to get on a regional rail train is over 3 hours long, and when the few cabs that drive down JFK are already full, you start to panic. You take out $100 from the ATM, thinking that this might be the day that cash can do some talking for you. You flag down every cab you can, and you agree to share one -- if it stops -- with two very drunk men from Downingtown, as long as they will let you go to the airport first. You start wondering how much you would be willing to pay a cab to take you to the airport. When someone tells you they heard that cabs aren't allowed to stop for anyone on the street, and that they are only picking people up from 30th Street Station, where the line is 2+ hours long, you start to worry. Is this what the end of the world feels like?
And then you hail a cab, it pauses long enough for you to yell, "Airport!" and pulls over for you at the next corner, and you share a ride with another woman going to the airport, and it only costs you $25 each (instead of the normal flat-rate of $28.50) and you miraculously make it to the airport in plenty of time, when 10 minutes previously you thought all was lost. It turns out the cab driver was attracted by your suitcase, and was looking for an excuse to get the hell out of Center City because he didn't like the mob scene. Thank goodness.
And then you see the curly haired, Phillies-sweatshirt-wearing dude at your gate, the same one you saw the day before, and you realize he flew into town from Cleveland just for the parade, and he smiles at you and recognizes you wearing your (same) Phillies shirt, and asks how your job interview went, and everything is happy again.
Go Phillies!
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3 comments:
Did you get names of the drunk Downingtown-i-ans? Wonder if they're anyone I know.
Glad you made it - Katie was down there - probably Megan as well.
Nope, no names. At first, they said, "We're going way downtown," which I thought was weird, because we were in Center City, aka downtown. Then, when I said I was going to the airport, they said, "Oh that will work, we can take 95 to 322" and I didn't pay much attention. Finally, at the end, as they were walking away, they said "Downingtown" and I realized what was going on. But too late; I was trying to flag a cab, so I let them get away.
2nd person blurghing. Interesting.
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