Last night was trivia night. Once a week my friend Sarina and her boyfriend James go into Boston or Cambridge, meet up with his friends at a pub and play trivia they hold there, and I go with them when I can. I was really excited because I hadn't been to trivia since last summer, and you all know how much I love random trivia questions, especially when I know the answers. But there was a tiny problem: James needed gas. No big, right?
As we drove into a Shell station in the Fresh Pond area (it was a little sketchy, and as Sarina said the projects were nearby), we heard this metallic scraping/rattling sound. "James, is that your car?" Sarina asked. The next thing I know, the guy who is running the service shop comes out and asks with a bewildered expression, "What's going on?" Well, that's not a good sign, is it?
Turns out something is wrong with James' car, I don't know if it was the wheel or the brakes or what as I don't pay attention to things like that. But we were stuck at this gas station for however long it would take the guy to fix it.
To my great relief, it only took about a half hour (in which time we ate a pack of fruit-flavored Mentos that we took off the shelf of the snack shop--we paid for it, don't worry). And to my surprise, the guy didn't charge James! James still gave him $20, but man that was nice of him!
And we still made it to the second half of trivia.