So. It has been a fun but exhausting day. I should be watching some more training videos for work, but I just got back to my friend’s house and I need a little breather. Today I ventured out into the happenin’ city of Boston. My boss had recommended a museum in Fenway, so I decided to wander around there for a while.
After many Google searches to determine my best route, I set off on my jolly way. I was set on the idea of only using public transport, which meant I would have to take either the bus or the commuter rail into the city. I’ve heard that buses can be confusing, so I took the commuter rail into Boston, which led me to the T (subway), which I could take all the way to the Isabella Gardner Museum. So that was all well and good, and I only had to ask for help 3 times before I found the museum.
If you are ever in Boston, go to this museum. It is part greenhouse/garden, part sculpture/architecture/painting museum, unchanged since it was built in 1903, and it is sweet. Admission is a little steep (by St. Louis standards), but you get in for free if your name is Isabella, and you get a discount if you wear any Red Sox apparel. Apparently Ms. Gardner was a huge Sox fan and once attended an orchestra concert wearing a headband on which she wrote, “Oh, you Red Sox!” which maybe had more meaning back then, but made a lot of people think she was totally kooky. They don’t allow pictures in the garden, but here are some that I snagged from the Interwebz:
Anyway, the whole point of this post was that I had a whole long story about how I missed my commuter train back to Swampscott, which is where I needed to be. Ironically, I missed it because I was a few hours early for the train and ended up hanging out at Boston Beer Works and talking to people about things to do in Boston, and then I realized I needed to get to the train station but by the time I ran over there, it was too late. The problem with the commuter rail is that it only runs like, once every 3 hours. So I had the choice of sitting around waiting for it and not getting home until midnight, or figuring out another option right quick. Luckily, being a crier pays off sometimes. Not that I actually cried, but I asked for help with my sad face on and the nice people at the T station let me on for free and told me exactly where I needed to go. Although then I had to take the bus, which involved a 20 minute walk from the station to my final destination, which was another problem since I didn’t know where I was once the bus dropped me off. Don’t worry, I carried my keys in my hand like a knife and made it home without any bruises.
I guess I did end up telling the whole long story, but in my mind it was a lot more dramatic. I was also going to talk about all the lessons I learned from this, like how it’s okay to ask for help and make random friends on the train and play peek-a-boo with someone else’s kid, which will make that person more likely to help you as an unintended side affect. The moral of this story is that if you are ever lost in a strange place, act like the sweet and naive Midwesterner you were raised to be, don’t be proud, and admit up-front to people that you are completely clueless. They might mock you in their heads, but you will get where you need to go, and you might end up with a few more friends that way. If you made it all the way through this entire rambling post, you deserve a cookie.