It was the first week of January in the new decade. It was the new decade if you subscribe to the notion that Western Civilization denotes decades by the ‘tens digit’ and not by the purist-notion that there was no ‘Year Zero’ and therefore the decade spanned from January 1, 2001 until December 31, 2010, thereby screwing up the decade designations such as the Roaring 20’s. Come off it Guys, this argument goes back 2000 years. Get over it. Blame it on the Gregorian Monks and enjoy the celebration. Besides, I didn’t hear anyone claiming we were celebrating the New Year in error by dropping the big bright ball in Times Square one minute early.
We were headed home in the middle of that first week all happy that it was Humpday and firmly into the second half of the week by at least a one-half workday. Erika was facing the stairs from her seat by the vestibule door when she spied the bag of a man who was sitting upstairs facing our little enclave from above. His bag was stenciled with the message “You best stay out of my way because I ride MARC.” This was just the type of sentiment that was well respected among the Notorious Car 5 Gang members. Erika called out that she liked the message. The man turned the bag around and displayed the other message: “Real Men Ride MARC.”
Erika wanted to know where he got it. She told Loud Bob to go ask him if he made it himself. Bob looked up at it and said, “I not going to ask a man if he made his bag himself. THAT would just BE WRONG.” Erika called up to him again and he replied that he ordered it from a specialty website that will put just about anything you want on various items. (It’s www.spreadshirt.com if you are interested.) I told him he was our kind of commuter and that he should join us when we have pizza and beer on occasional Fridays.
All this time Princess Carly was providing us with the itinerary of her pending New England weekend bus trip to watch a football game. Four layers of warm clothes were suggested for the 7 hour or so early morning ride up north and the extended outdoor day. She could use some advice from Sheila or Rose (the street people who populate the sidewalk near where I work) on surviving long hours in the cold. Although several other people from her job office were also going, she still had to be back for Monday morning.
Thank the Gregorian Monks its Friday.
Our happy hour almost was scuttled by the Red Line delays. When I was almost to the Car, Erika was coming back along the platform. “Did they send you out to look for ME?” I asked.
“No. Larry isn’t here. They said he might have gotten stuck in that Red Line mess. I’m going to see if he’s getting the pizzas.” I was disappointed that they weren’t looking for me, but the pizza did have a higher priority.
Erika returned with Larry and no pizza. Although the order of events had been severely messed up, with who was doing what and all, three pizzas did arrive in due time along with a sufficient supply of Busch and Miller Lite. Billy and Mikey had the brews and I didn’t see who actually carried the pizza to the train because it was ceremoniously passed from hand to hand through the vestibule door into our greedy hands.
The Real Man was back upstairs in his spot watching over the festivities going on below. I motioned for him to join us. He declined.
It was not long before we polished off the food and drink and were all happy and ready for the weekend. Billy asked me something as he stood nearby. I asked him to repeat it because I did not believe what he said. “What do you call those little urges,” he asked?
“What?”
“What do you call those little urges,” he repeated? I was completely baffled by why he was saying that.
“I really don’t know how to answer that question. I have to say NOBODY has ever asked me that.”
Then from beyond where I could see a single word clarified everything. “Clementines.”
Our ride was over and the train eased into the BWI station. Another week of commuting adventures was behind us.
For L. Bob though, the night was far from over. He was parked near the stairwell closest to the station. When he went to unlock the door of his pickup, the key broke off due to a frozen lock. I stopped to see what I might do. Try as we might, there was no unlocking the door. A phone call to his wife obtained for him a long ride home to get a spare key and ride back to the train station.
We stood there next to the truck talking about various things including how after my wife chewed my out for losing my wallet once, she had her entire purse stolen in 30 seconds in Costa Rica. Try as I might, and I tried very hard, I could not withhold the comment, “Remember when I lost my wallet?”
Bicycle Coast Guard Girl? :) I guess that's a good description.
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