Yesterday I drove back home from Ithaca and brought Andy with me, whom I had to drop off in Allston. For those of you who don't know, Allston is a part of Boston. And if you know me, you know the direction in which this is headed.
Of course, I got off the wrong exit when I was leaving the Pike. I had to turn around and go to exit 20, which was back the other way, so I needed to find a way back on the Pike. Imagine my horror when I realized I was headed for Copley Square. Oh by the way, I had never driven in Boston before.
I called my dad in a panic, but luckily it was pretty easy to find my way back on the highway. I ended up paying an extra toll, which led to my next problem.
After dropping Andy off and spending a little while at Bill's house (where he was staying), I remembered to ask for toll money because I didn't have enough to get home. Let it be known that I am never allowed to give money back to someone if they give it to me for tolls. I thought a dollar would be enough. Stupid me, forgetting I needed to pay two tolls and not one.
So I'm back on the Pike when I realize, hey, I bet there's going to be another toll coming up. I once again called my dad, who told me to pull off at Watertown since they wouldn't have a toll at that exit. I counted up my money, and had a dollar in change--we thought this would be enough.
Then as I'm back on the road, another brilliant realization hit me: the toll would probably be the same as the first FOUR tolls I paid, which was $1.25. Brilliant. What would I do?
I knew those pennies in my cupholder would come in handy one day. You should have seen the look on the toll collector's face when I handed them over. She was not pleased.
AND of course, I missed the exit into Burlington. But this wasn't as big a deal, since I was now on 128 and would come across at least two more exits into Burlington. I took the one at Winn Street.
And suddenly, I was on another on ramp. How did this happen? I'm an idiot who doesn't pay attention, of course.
Finally I got home after all of these crazy shenanigans. But my exciting life just got better when my housemate Nicki woke me up at 9:30 the next morning with this text message:
"Someone broke into our house last night."
Oh wonderful.
I called her to find out what happened. Apparently, someone on her side opened up a window and climbed through into their kitchen. She woke up when they tried to open her door, which was locked, thank God. She had watched Bones earlier and got freaked out, so she locked her bedroom door. And did I mention she was in the house all by herself, excepting the intruders? Yeah. She was.
After calling the police, the list of items missing was short: two bottles of alcohol, and--this is the best part--a single trash tag. This was all before we realized they had broken into my side of the house though--walking right through our open back door.
Erica realized afterward that $17 was missing from her wallet, and a couple of bottles of alcohol were missing from our side as well.
So let's review: four bottles of alcohol, $17, and a trash tag the night before trash day. I think it's pretty obvious what type of person it was--stupid, drunk college student perhaps?
Aaaand this is my life.
1 comment:
That is messed up.
I've never been robbed, but I had a friend whose house did get broken into when he was kid. As he was walking home from the bus stop one afternoon, he noticed that his front door was open. When he got there, a strange man was standing in the doorway staring back at him. Neither of them spoke for a minute or so. Then the guy asks, "Does Frank live here?"
My friend, who was only twelve at the time, yelled back, "No! Get the hell out of my house!"
Amazingly, the guy left.
When my friend got inside and locked the door behind him, he noticed a cardboard box sitting in a nearby chair. It was full of vaulables. His mother's jewelry, his stereo, and ..., most importantly, his box of Cap'n Crunch.
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