Orange Line

Orange Line

We took the kids to see “Disney on Ice” at the Boston Garden today, and since parking in Boston usually a.) is a pain in the ass and b.) costs a small fortune, we parked just outside the city and took the subway two stops to the Garden. I do believe it was Jayna’s first time on the subway, and she was slightly intimidated, but settled in just fine, thanks in part to her veteran-of-the-subway brother.

Zan’s most memorable subway experience—which he recounted for us today—happened in April of last year, when he and I went to see a daytime Red Sox game on a Massachusetts holiday known as Patriot’s Day. It is on that day each April that the Boston Marathon takes place.

For those of you who are math fans, here’s a little equation for you: [Red Sox day game] + [Boston Marathon] + [Boston subway system] = [mass fucking pandemonium]²

After standing in the midst of a sea of people at an underground station and watching about five overloaded trains pass through, I finally played the “taking my kid to a ballgame” card, which involved picking Zan up in my arms as the next train was pulling in and saying just loud enough for the several rows of people between us and the tracks to hear, “Don’t worry, buddy, we’ll make it in time for the first pitch.” It was like I said “Abracadabra,” because two Sox-cap-wearing guys up front parted the sea for us and said, “Go ‘head, pal.”

There was just enough room for the two of us to squeeze on board, and we then rode for about a half-dozen stops while sandwiched in the middle of the standing-room-only car … which was particularly fun for Zan, since eye-level for him at the time was ass-level for everyone else.

On the way home after the game, it was even worse. We managed to get two seats, but then the train stopped in the tube, between stations, for about 15 minutes … with absolutely no ventilation whatsoever. We were drenched with sweat, and the sweltering conditions quickly konked out the already-tired Zan, who I fanned with one of those foam “Sox are No. 1!” index-finger things the entire time. Finally, we started moving, then pulled into the next station, where we were told everyone had to disembark because the train we were on was being taken out of service. Must’ve needed to get to its other job … as a sauna. Thus, we had to wait around for another train that had enough room for us to shoehorn ourselves on board.

With all of that in mind, it amazes me that Zan couldn’t wait to take the train into the city today. Then again, every subway ride we ever take from now until eternity will almost surely be more pleasant than the one we took on Patriot’s Day. Kind of like getting struck by lightning: probably not gonna happen twice … particularly since never, ever, ever again shall we even consider using the subway on Marathon Monday.

UPDATE: Yesterday, when I wrote the part about the sweltering-hot train stopping in the tube, I vaguely recalled that another passenger had broken the silence with a terribly funny remark, but couldn’t remember what he said. It just occurred to me:

“Hey, could somebody pour some more water on the rocks?”

Now that dude is funny.

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