The saga continues

There was no way I was going to make my San Jose flight from JFK, so I was moved to a flight tomorrow.

I picked up my bag from baggage claim and looked for cheap hotels, but I’m an amazing cheapskate and I refuse to stay in less than a three star hotel after tenting, so I’m taking the train to my sister-in-law’s house.

I bought a Charlie Ticket and put on enough cash to get to and from South Station. When I tried to use the ticket, the bus driver grabbed it when it came back out. Seems that my card couldn’t be read. But he looked it over and let me on anyways. So now I had an extra two dollars on the card.

I got to South Station and it took half an hour to figure out the system. First I realized I didn’t actually want Amtrak. Then I figured out which train I needed. Then when I tried to buy a ticket, I had to cancel and go find the zone. I tried to buy the ticket again an realized I needed to know how much a ticket costs, so I cancelled it again. Finally, I added the appropriate amount to my Charlie Ticket

I went in search of food. It was after 6 pm and I’d had an English muffin, a peach, a bottle of water, and an iced vanilla latte. So I was shaking like mad and my ears are ringing so much it is hard to hear.

My choices included McDonalds, Chinese, pizza, or fresh sandwiches/salads. I really wanted pizza. Or a cheeseburger. I’d been saving myself up to eat at the JetBlue terminal at JFK. So I was starving and having a har time caring about my diet.

Guilt finally won out and I got a 408 calorie sandwich, carrots instead of chips, and a mojito lemonade.

As I was eating, I got a phone call from the vets holding Pablo hostage. Seems the bank declined their request for a couple grand while I’m in Boston. And they don’t take American Express. So I begged and asked if I can bring a check from my other secret off-shore account tomorrow. No, I don’t have a card for it. Money just magically appears in it when I wave my wand. And my checks for it have a wicked old address, but please, let me pay tomorrow and release Pablo today. He needs to go home.

They called back and the connection was so bad, I had to hang up on him. I called back. Little do they know about my sand wedge hostage situation that I am negotiating at the same time.

The vet had agreed to let me pay Tuesday for a hamburger today.

Pablo is going home. I’m not.

As I was walking down the track, carrying a half eaten sandwich and negotiating the release of my cat, the conductor smiled at me. After hanging up the phone, I went back to him and asked if I had the right amount on my ticket.

I had the wrong ticket.

I asked if I should go back and get the right one. He said to get on an I could buy one on the train.

So I did. And he charged me for zone 8 when I only need zone 4.

I’m too tired to argue.


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