For those of us blessed with an off-white skin tone, a trip to some vacation hot spot is terrifying at best. Why go south, where the sun is closer and the rays are stronger?
After all, my last journey to the equator was a difficult experience, ask Cmdr. Chris Huff ’04 of the HMS Surprise.
Also, St. Paddy’s Day was during that week and an inexpensive trip to the Boston area made a great deal of sense.
By mid-week things were getting weird in sunny Massachusetts.
A friend of a friend of a friend needed to get to Logan Airport by 4:30 a.m. for a flight to Japan. This should have been an omen, the time for prayer was at hand.
But there was snow in the forecast, and that meant a trip to the neighborhood bar.
Surprisingly, there were people at the bar. Well, they all drove pick-up trucks. They had plows to help travel.
Finally, they had to spend the evening plowing the highways and byways of the southern Boston metro area.
There was also a man who had just recently arrived in America. Robbie was his name, and he claimed to be a professional wrestler, but declined to say from where. He said members of his wrestling federation’s sanctioning body were searching for him.
I don’t know why he chose that snowy night-of all nights-to venture out to a sub-par townie pub. But we welcomed him with open arms. Only Paul, a cosmic Space Lobster, was hesitant about this character.
Paul didn’t buy Robbie’s story, which was odd because he is normally quite gregarious. Robbie made many odd proclamations, such as the ability to read minds and an uncanny knowledge of car-insurance policies.
Perhaps Paul was right to doubt this man’s integrity, for Robbie soon began to hit on a wife of one of the plowmen.
It’s odd how much you see when a small group of people are stranded in an isolated pub on Rte. 1. It was a bonanza for the pub though, with onion rings flying freely.
By St. Patrick’s Day, the tone was set for this week. I went to my friend Marty’s in Jamaica Plain.
I remember vaguely what happened until 10 p.m. However, information about the rest of my night comes from the back of sugar packets. I apologize to all parties at the party, fortunately no one from Fairfield was there.
At least somewhere, my reputation remains marginally intact.
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