A Night at the Roxbury with DJ Bernard

I’ve vented about this before. Taxis in Boston are the worst.

Last night was the perfect storm of awfulness + ridiculousness.

The Captain and I went to dinner downtown and attempted to take the subway back to his house. Only to realize the Sox game had just ended and therefore, every train was packed with people. How packed? As my friend Jess once said, “What is this, India?”

Ok, so the T was out. Next option, a taxi.

After hanging out on the corner hailing numerous occupied cabs (the Boston cabbies lack the courtesy to abide by any kind of light system, so you never know until they drive by if there’s anyone in the cab), we snagged one. Huzzah! [This was a success compared to two weekends ago, when we attempted to grab a cab at 1:30 am. After telling the cabbies our destination, two of them just drove off, not satisfied with the fare they’d receive from our trip.] 

And then it went downhill. Fast.

1.) As soon as we told the cabbie our destination, he responded with, “Aww shit, I just came from there!”
2.) He seemed puzzled by the address, but seemed to know where he was going. That is, until he drove us in a circle.
3.) Then he passed back his GPS and told us to program in the address. Umm, try 666 Trouble St., because that’s where we were headed.
4.) The Haitian news radio was full of static, yet blasting at nearly full volume.
5.) As our cabbie was alternately slamming the gas, then slamming the brake, the Captain and I exchanged skeptical glances.
[here’s the game changer]
6.) The cabbie saw a blonde woman hailing a cab and yelled out, “Where you going? South Boston? Get in!” And so this woman was in the passenger’s seat, cabbin it with us.
7.) At this point, I was so annoyed with the entire experience I debated a jump-and-roll at the next stop light.
8.) The woman, obviously drunk from the Sox game, made small talk with the cabbie. When they exchanged names, she said, “Bernard? That’s a good, strong name.” When she said the Haitian language sounded like gibberish to her, oh how he laughed. When they shared a common love of music and dancing, he changed the station to a hip-hop station, turned up the volume, and started rapping/singing along, while simultaneously pumping the brakes to the beat of the music as she yelled out, “YEAH! You got a new job! DJ Bernard, that’s what I’m gonna call you!”
9.) At this point, the woman had looked back a few times at me with a shrug and an “I have no idea what is happening” smirk. Bernard-the-cabbie had looked back at the Captain a few times with a “YEAH! I’m gonna nail her!” smirk. I looked at the Captain through a sea of tears, which were soaking my cheeks from laughing so hard at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation.
10.) As we arrived at our destination, we attempted to pay with the credit card machine, but it was conveniently broken (sidebar: cabbies often say their credit machines are ’broken’ so they get fares in cash rather than in credit, which takes 10-15% off their fare to pay the credit card company). As the Captain asked to be driven to an ATM, the blonde woman said, “No, no, it’s cool. I’m just a few blocks from here and I have cash. Don’t worry about it, I’ve got you covered.”

And so, they sped off leaving us on the sidewalk, bent at the knees trying to recover from laughter.

The Start of Camping Season

Maybe it’s engrossing myself in nature, maybe it’s the taste of a smoked hotdog, or maybe it’s a throwback to childhood (in lieu of any actual vacations, my parents took us camping a few times each summer), but I love camping.

Now that I’m mostly an adult with my own camping excursions, I’ve accumulated almost all the necessities for a successful camping trip — quality tent, quality sleeping bag, lantern, flashlights, tarps, and a comfortable campfire chair (still need: cooler, grill, pop-up canopy for over the picnic table. hint: my birthday is in July).

Of course, those are just the necessities and make up about 20% of what I actually pack and bring with me.

The rest really just make the outing more relaxing — tubs full of snacks and meals, lots of blankets, games, bottles of wine/beer (depending on how cold/warm it will be when camping), music, etc. Aka the other 80% of stuff in my car is all non-essential.

Since this weekend was the first camping excursion of the season (and with my boyfriend, the Captain/Justin), I was excited to showcase my organizational skills and general preparedness.

I requested that he bring an iPod, a pan, a grill, and a water jug. Oh, and Scrabble. “I have everything else!” I proudly exclaimed. Two giant, hot pink rubbermaid bins labeled with their contents and in plastic sleeves, were my pride and joy.

And despite the weather, a gross 52-degrees, misting and foggy, we were on the road by 6:30 pm with an arrival time um…yeah…9:00 pm. Not good.

But I was still excited to get there and finally crack open the tent I received for Christmas and had been waiting to Christen with the first campout of the year.

…….That’s kind of when it hit me.

At about 8:07 pm, I realized I had never even opened my tent to make sure the pieces were all there, let alone that I knew how to put it together. And at 8:07 pm, when the fog was soupy, the weather was nasty, and I knew we’d be using my car’s headlights to illuminate the process, I broke the news to my boyfriend.

While his reaction didn’t have the same ring as my dad’s ”Dammit, Heidi…,” it was definitely noteworthy: “Seriously?! That is the WORST news you could have given me!”

A classic (circa Desi Arnaz and Lucille Ball) camping mistake.

But with my handy lantern, flashlights, and Gertie’s headlights (not to mention a healthy mix of communication, humor, and perserverance), we got the tent up in less than an hour and neither of us were maimed in the process.

Sidenote: of the 4 items he was responsible for, he forgot a pan, so I felt less bad about my initial fluffheaded mistake. But then he made me chocolate pancakes on a borrowed pan and all was well with the world.

Things I Would Rescue if My House Were on Fire

1. My retainers — I had braces for 2 years in high school and as my way of saying, “Thanks Mom and Dad for saving me from a life of jacked up toothery,” I wear my retainers twice a week.
2. My journals — I’ve been writing in a journal since 6th grade, so I have a stack of them.
3. My giant box of photo albums.
4. Snuggles and my green baby blanket — The former was a gift from my brother, Johnny, when I was 5 and the blanket, um, I kind of stole from him when I was a wee tot because I liked it better than my own.
5. My passport and birth certificate — I used to keep this at my parents’ house, but after witnessing a candle left burning (and nearly catching a shelf on fire — twice), I prefer to keep these important documents with me. The irony in this situation is that I’d be grabbing said important documents because my house would be on fire.
6. My KU sweatshirt — Oh, you nasty, gnarled frayed sweatshirt. So many Natty-Ice-laced memories. Even though I should let you burn, I will save you from the wreckage. Mostly because I’d already be wearing you.
7. My writing samples — I did not intern an entire summer at the Express-Times newspaper for fun.
8. My binder of recipes — Forget Betty Crocker. I’ve been accumulating a binder of recipes I’ve found from recipes sites, friends, my mom, and Granny B.