Station Frustration

So the original plan was to go back to New York with my cousin. She usually finishes class at 5 on Fridays and my physics homework is due at 5 so I thought it would be perfect.

I talk to her Thursday night. She's attending the early lecture. She'll be done by 12. I, on the other hand, start class at 12. Considering the fact that I knew I would have work to do after class, I tell her to go home without me. No big deal though. I arrange to go home with a friend from my physics class who also has that 5 PM deadline.

Stupid physics.

We rush to finish the homework. As always. We know some answers are wrong but we don't care. We finish. And then, along with her roommate, we get out of there.

We leave Kenmore around 5:15. We're expecting to catch the 6 PM bus. No problem. Except my bag. My bag is too heavy. The books in my bag weigh me down. Especially that textbook.

Stupid physics.

I'm climbing up and down stairs. F equals mg, mg, mg with each step I take. Force times distance. Increased force. Long distances. I'm doing a lot of work.

Stupid physics.

We're rushing to catch trains. The door closes on my bag and me. Stupid bag. I hear the strap crack. I wonder how the tension is distributed. Ugh. No. Tension. I nearly fall over when the train accelerates. Acceleration. Force. Ugh. Stupid physics.

We arrive at South Station. The open area is obscured by an infinite number of meandering lines. We're shocked. Still, my friend presses through, searching for the right line. We stop and stare.

"We're not going home," I unknowingly foreshadowed.

A man on the line says that it's moving. We believe him and hop on line.

We move. Slowly, but not surely. We proceed up inch by inch. Minutes pass. Then hours. We still have hope that we'll make it home. One AM, two AM, our predictions get longer but we dare not speak that unspeakable line--that we won't make it home at all.

I see two more classmates from my physics class, maybe an hour after we arrived ourselves. They're going to NYC for fun. They already have tickets. They hop on the other line. We watch them merge into the mob and then disappear.

Three hours later. The other classmates were surely gone. But we're close! I can read the ticket booth sign. But the line isn't moving. It begins getting chaotic. I see four transit officers make their way through the mob.

Then they announce it. They're not selling anymore tickets. Three hours. And contrary to what I expected, I wasn't halfway to New York. Heck, I wasn't even on my way.

Angry, defeated, upset, I sit down and tears fill my eyes. I knew it would happen. I knew it. But I couldn't give up and leave the line. Not when I waited an hour, two hours, three hours. Three hours I wasted of my life. Three hours I spent stressed, tired, in pain.

My friend hands me a tissue to wipe my eyes. I didn't know I wanted to go home so badly. Or maybe I just couldn't believe I just went through that for nothing. (After all, that seems to be my ultimate fear in life.) After a few minutes, she notes that it's getting late and that we should head back. They take off. I get up reluctantly, haul my bag over my shoulder, and follow them out back to the T.

On the way back, we talked about what happened. We talked about what we were going to do. We scowled at their shitty business practices while we half-joked about how physics was the cause of all this misery... ugh, stupid physics.

But seriously... when it happened, I didn't even want to go home anymore. I was so upset. But my friend was still going back (her grandmother is in the hospital), and so I decided that I didn't really have a reason to complain and that I should go home too.

So for now, I'm still in Boston, in my dorm, alone, angry, sad. The plan though is to leave Kenmore at 5:15 AM and catch the 6:30 AM bus to Chinatown.

Whatever. As long as I'm back in New York by noon.