A friend said how much easier it was to take public transportation, which literally drops you off at the door. Since this is Beautiful Downtown Camden, New Jersey, we figured why not. Getting there by car is a pain in the ass, but we always get lost on the way back because New Jersey has a state law prohibiting street signs, and the few signs there are have been turned around, so you head into the more interesting neighborhoods.
One cannot simply use public transportation; one must look at maps, color coded, going in directions you didn't know were directions, and stopping at streets that might be the ones you know, or are similar on both sides of the river, spanning two states. The first map wasn't 100% clear on how this was going to happen. The other maps were ads for someone's app. Finally we found 2 sites that agreed with one another, so we went with those. Little does anybody know, they just have the same errors on them.
All this involved 2 simple train rides, one under a huge bridge, a few thousand feet over water, right near where the planes fly. I've seen these trains when I drive, but thanked heavens that I'd never be on one. Til last night.
We parked in downtown Philly, which meant a $25 ransom, because Philly thinks it's New York. Philly has a lot of delusions - this is only one of them. Off we walked, to the subway. On the way, there was a very colorful parade. Many people standing around. It suddenly occurred to me that there was not a single woman in the pack.
Oh.
All this involved 2 simple train rides, one under a huge bridge, a few thousand feet over water, right near where the planes fly. I've seen these trains when I drive, but thanked heavens that I'd never be on one. Til last night.
We parked in downtown Philly, which meant a $25 ransom, because Philly thinks it's New York. Philly has a lot of delusions - this is only one of them. Off we walked, to the subway. On the way, there was a very colorful parade. Many people standing around. It suddenly occurred to me that there was not a single woman in the pack.
Oh.
Past the club, some dude was looking at me. What the hell does this guy want? Wife bursts out into laughter....
Didn't you catch any of that?
Didn't you catch any of that?
Any of what?
You got the full staredown, head to toe.
Huh?
About 80% percent of the guys hanging outside the club were eyeing you up and down.
Not again.
Oh yeah, and that last guy...
The one who annoyed me because he didn't look away, as society dictates?
Oh yeah. You're fresh meat.
Thank God I have you with me to explain all this. It took a while for me to figure out it was a gay bar.
You got the full staredown, head to toe.
Huh?
About 80% percent of the guys hanging outside the club were eyeing you up and down.
Not again.
Oh yeah, and that last guy...
The one who annoyed me because he didn't look away, as society dictates?
Oh yeah. You're fresh meat.
Thank God I have you with me to explain all this. It took a while for me to figure out it was a gay bar.
Absolutely - this is a very gay area. Lots of great bars. I used to come here with Bob.
That's nice. Everyone should have somewhere to play. However, we should probably cancel our plans to see that cool little town where you like to shop.
Yeah, probably.
I like the place, but an awful lot of the place liked me. Way too much.
Yeah, you must put out signals.
Very funny. Can we walk by some lesbian bars, so I can return the favor?
I am not an attractive fellow. This isn't a complaint.. it's simply reality. You won't see me on GQ anytime soon, as in ever. I'm ok with that. I look like some scrufty.. ummm... musician? Wife says it can't be that bad or she wouldn't have noticed me. Meh - we all have bad taste in something.
We finally found the subway, which was completely unsigned and unmanned, so we had to figure out everything by ourselves. No problem, as the few signs left were in Swahili, so we had to use the braille bumps. The only problem is that neither of us speaks braille. You used to buy a ticket from a person, then go through the gates. In the name ofprog regress, there are no humans. But it wasn't totally negative... it didn't smell like urine anymore. Once on the train, we were almost happy to discover it was the correct train, going in the correct direction. Wife turned pale when she saw we were heading to City Hall. It was New Jersey's City Hall, not Philly's.
The train dropped us in New Jersey. The map said we were going to a 'transportation center.' Only there was no transportation center. This doesn't mean there weren't transportation center signs all over the subway, each pointing in a different direction. None pointed up, which we discovered we had to go. One flight of steps and 10 minutes later (wife has a cane), we were at the top of the steps. Oh, look at that - an elevator. Unmarked. No matter, we'll use it on the way back. So, this transportation center... where is it?
It must've been close because there were absolutely no signs. New Jersey thinks signs confuse people, so there aren't any. We looked around, left the building, and looked around. Nothing. Zip. A lot of people smoking. Across the street was a building (I am very observant). I figured that was the transportation center, because it was unmarked. When we got there, the doors were locked. Of course the doors were locked, this was a transportation center. Some nice guy took pity on us and told us exactly where to get the tram. Then everybody wanted 40 cents or a cigarette. As we waited, there was a digital clock above us, giving us the time and the time of the train. This would have been quite a good idea, had both of the numbers stopped changing randomly. Down to our right, a homeless person had her belongings all over the benches and was talking to someone we could not see, but I was not going to be the one to tell here wasn't there. In fact, it looked like a tram stop, but was, in fact, a homeless gathering place.
Finally we realized we needed a ticket to board. We looked up and down the stop, and there wasn't a single ticket machine. Of course there wasn't a ticket machine; that's how things were going. Oh wait - I see one! Right across the tracks, on the side going the other direction. Of course it was on the other side. Off we went, our helpful friend saying not to bother, but we did anyway. Wife is dealing with the involved menu to purchase tickets, when some guy walks in back of the machine. No. NO. Please tell me NO! Yes. He was peeing on the ground. Wife was turning colors, unable to complete the transaction. I was mentally composing this blog. The other homeless people were appalled and started yelling at him.
As we were getting over how lucky we were to have been part of the spectacle, our tram pulled up. Only we were on the wrong side, thus 30 seconds too late to get on said tram. Of course we missed the tram... it wouldn't be right if we didn't. Another 20 minutes in paradise, til the next one. Oops, it's almost 30 minutes into the concert. Yay! Wife texted her friend that we were just hanging out in Beautiful Downtown Camden, with the nice drug addicted homeless folk, most of who really wanted to meet and chat with us about financial transactions. It was really not a place we were used to being, and swore we would never be again. Nowhere on the maps did it say WARNING: YOUR STATION IS IN THE WORST PART OF THE ENTIRE STATE AND YOU WILL HAVE TO WAIT AROUND WITH DRUG-ADDICTED HOMELESS PEOPLE AND NO SECURITY. That would have been a useful sign, but as I said, there are no signs in New Jersey.
Finally the tram arrived, and 5 stops later we were at the concert. The sounds of the opener, Cheap Trick, wafted through the air. I have never seen Cheap Trick, so this was supposed to be an opportunity. It would have been an opportunity, had the entire ride not taken three hours. There was no warning sign about that either.
But fate was not done with me yet.. there was a patdown before entering. The guy in front of me said we could thank 9-11 for that. Here was a smart, perceptive fellow. Since they had lawn seats, people brought chairs. There was a huge table with chairs, so I thought it was nice that they supplied them. Ah, no. They took them away from people. I'm groaning under my breath, but at least it wouldn't affect us. The patdown really pissed me off. Security Theater, just like airports. In the Philly stadiums ($50 parking, $250 seats), there are metal detectors. After surviving the groping, without them buying us dinner first, off we went to find the seats. When I commented to the Groper that she had the good gig, she said not anymore, as she was leaving in 2 more shows. I thanked her for that bit of wisdom.
Of course when I say off we went to find the seats, I mean off we went to get a soda. As I took a sip, I asked what she bought. Pepsi. Pepsi. Who the hell puts a Pepsi stand in a concert venue (or restaurant, hot dog stand, or store). Wife hates Pepsi too, so I'm not entirely sure why we were drinking Pepsi. They also failed to have Mountain Dew, the only acceptable Pepsi product. PERFIDY.
Looking up, there was a screen with Cheap Trick performing inside. Finally, we get to go in. And when I say go in, I mean go into the bathroom. The doctors say I have to remain calm and even gave me medicine to keep myself calm. There were no marked bathrooms - only a few doors into the concert. And I finally lost it. It was a stream of expletives that would get me jailed or committed (or both) in any public place in the country, except New York, where you get arrested if you don't perform Public Lunacy. Wife is not fond of my little breaks from sanity, but it was so loud, no one heard it but her.
We have different 'styles.' Mine goes from place to place, in a straight line. It just goes. Hers initially goes in a straight line, with at least 12 circular departures, shopping, soda purchasing, straight line, stopping for ice cream because the kids want some, straight line, stopping for the bathroom. I can generally keep myself quiet, like Charlie Manson, but it had become too much for me.
The usher-like lady said down and to the right. Where there were people sitting already. We communicated by hand signals and braille to let them know those were our seats. Eventually he pointed out, hands ablaze, that the usher had given us incorrect directions - it should've been down and left. Well, left.. right.. it's an easy mistake for someone who works there and seats thousands of people a night. They were good seats. We were pleased with them.
If you ever get a chance to see Cheap Trick, you should. I don't know more than 4 of their songs, but they were very entertaining. Rick Neilson, the guitarist, is a master of the stage, not to mention one of the first rock star vintage guitar collectors. He's known for his 5 neck guitar. He was all over the place, like a mad ringleader. I enjoyed them. Unfortunately, the mix sucked, so we couldn't make out a lot. Sound systems have become better exponentially, but a bad mix is a bad mix.
A row in front of us was a vision. She was the kind of girl who shows up and there's light around her. She even has a sound.... a celestial sound (ahhhhh). She was petite (my type), but still had everything in every right place (my type), with tight jeans (sometimes my type) and a short top with no bra (definitely, completely, undeniably my type). Even the Mrs. noticed her and pointed her out to me. She was moving in this hypnotic way, slithering, curving, dancing, and moving side to side in the most incredibly rhythmic motion. Never mind that she was young.. she was a vision. When I returned to reality, she was grinding on her boyfriend. Then sucking face with him. Then taking selfies (during the entire show). Then grinding again, stopping only to drink beer. Even a vision has its limits. When the Top played, everyone stood, as they should. Unfortunately we were in the row that started sitting - every row in back of us was sitting. Every row in front of us was standing. We were actually the demarcation line for sitting. Wife cannot stand for too long, so we sat. There were huge, clear monitors on each side, where we had to watch the concert, while the drunk lovebirds continued their drunk, chemically assisted writhing. Finally we decided that we didn't pay for tickets to watch the band on screens, so we found seats further down the row. I was terrified because they looked like they were moving with us, so our view could continue to be obscured. Wife also pointed out that she was completely obsessed with selfies, and he kept looking around to make sure everybody was watching them annoy us, and most of the people around us. The spot was good, and I got some decent shots on my phone's camera; which makes everything look half a mile away, even if you're 20' from the stage.
ZZ Top pointed out that this is their 50th year as a band, to thunderous applause. Most things said were greeted with thunderous applause. The mix was substantially better too. These guys always rock, and always put on a spectacular show. Unfortunately it was a short show, with no encores. But it was vintage ZZ Top - hits and good old stuff. I caught them using a backing track during Legs, but I think that was it. Wife pointed out that Dusty (bass) and Frank (drums) were wearing arthritis gloves. Well, the whole band is gittin up there.
I was aggravated from the entire circus just to get there, so I couldn't enjoy the concert. Public Transportation should buy us tickets, front row, for the next stop on the tour, plus a meet and greet, where the Reverend Willy G would sign my #1 guitar. But I woke up. We boarded the tram for the first ride back. Just as we were purchasing tickets (sans urine), they told us to just get on the train. Ok, we got on the train and waited. And waited. And watched all sorts of interesting people fill up the tram. And waited. The crowd was largely older than us, as I guess should be normal for this band, and some of them dressed as if they were much younger than us. If you have 40lbs to lose, don't wear pants so tight no one can find the zipper. If your shirt has holes in it on purpose, try not to have skin (or anything else) protrude from them. It's a courtesy to fellow riders who want to be able to eat sometime the following week.
The tram dropped us off on the ticket side of the drug-addicted homeless encampment, only some fat lady with a cart pushed right past the Mrs to get off the tram. Said Fat Lady was lucky to be allowed to live.... one does not piss off the Mrs. With or without cane, she will kill you. Or make you wish you were dead (there's a marriage joke in there somewhere, but I shall wisely avoid making it). The throng of Dirty White Folk and overweight people hanging out of their clothes made their way past the Dirty Drug-Addicted Homeless Folk and located their track. It would have been an interesting football game. We found the elevator, a minor miracle, and it didn't smell. Much.
Poof, we were back in Philthydelphia. As much as I hate Philly, it beats Camden, New Jersey. We discovered the train took us right to the parking garage. Wife laughed, as she mused that we weren't going to pass by the Gay Area, where she could watch 80% of the men checking me out. I neglected to laugh as hard, remembering that entire city block in the quaint town, when she pointed out I was incredibly popular. Now I know what women feel like... a piece of meat. Not that I ever made them feel like that, but it was not comfortable. Why couldn't I be that popular with women? When we walk past any non-gay establishment, women don't all stop what they're doing and silently, wishfully, watch me walk by. Hell, I'd settle for 10%. Before I was married, of course. She still cackled.
After locating the car park, which had moved a couple streets over since we parked the car, we took an elevator to the correct floor. On the wall was a sign: HOLD IT. Do not use this elevator as a bathroom, out of courtesy to the public.
Uh-oh.
Thankful to pay a small ransom to retrieve our car, I got the hell out. Then there were detours... Philly: You can't get there from here. If you can figure out a way, your tax dollars show up in holes you could put several cars in, manholes to run over and trash your suspension, lanes that appeared and disappeared randomly, complete assholes who are the only drivers on the road, so they can go the other way on a one way street, or pull out in front of you, as if you did not exist. When they're done flying by you, they slow to a crawl, 2 cars up, either drunk or stupid (or both). The absolute worst are the pedestrians. A brief perusal of the PA drivers manual told me I was not allowed to run them over. They were leaping out from all sides, entitled to be in the middle of the street, in the middle of traffic. And this did not include the drug-addicted, who stood in the middle of the street, as if it were a line for a cheesesteak Fortunately, Wife knows her way around, so we only got lost twice.
Since it was almost 1am, it was time for dinner. Who sleeps before work anyway?
Before I went to bed, I asked her if we were going that way next time, or driving. She had to think about it for a microsecond. I did not require even half a microsecond. I decided we won't have those problems EVER AGAIN. When we drive someplace we don't know, it tends to get a little heated. When I say a little heated, I mean like the Allies against Germany, but not as well-mannered (or quiet). I'd rather scream the entire 2 hours there and pay $40 for parking in the regular spot when we specified handicapped spot.
That's nice. Everyone should have somewhere to play. However, we should probably cancel our plans to see that cool little town where you like to shop.
Yeah, probably.
I like the place, but an awful lot of the place liked me. Way too much.
Yeah, you must put out signals.
Very funny. Can we walk by some lesbian bars, so I can return the favor?
I am not an attractive fellow. This isn't a complaint.. it's simply reality. You won't see me on GQ anytime soon, as in ever. I'm ok with that. I look like some scrufty.. ummm... musician? Wife says it can't be that bad or she wouldn't have noticed me. Meh - we all have bad taste in something.
We finally found the subway, which was completely unsigned and unmanned, so we had to figure out everything by ourselves. No problem, as the few signs left were in Swahili, so we had to use the braille bumps. The only problem is that neither of us speaks braille. You used to buy a ticket from a person, then go through the gates. In the name of
The train dropped us in New Jersey. The map said we were going to a 'transportation center.' Only there was no transportation center. This doesn't mean there weren't transportation center signs all over the subway, each pointing in a different direction. None pointed up, which we discovered we had to go. One flight of steps and 10 minutes later (wife has a cane), we were at the top of the steps. Oh, look at that - an elevator. Unmarked. No matter, we'll use it on the way back. So, this transportation center... where is it?
It must've been close because there were absolutely no signs. New Jersey thinks signs confuse people, so there aren't any. We looked around, left the building, and looked around. Nothing. Zip. A lot of people smoking. Across the street was a building (I am very observant). I figured that was the transportation center, because it was unmarked. When we got there, the doors were locked. Of course the doors were locked, this was a transportation center. Some nice guy took pity on us and told us exactly where to get the tram. Then everybody wanted 40 cents or a cigarette. As we waited, there was a digital clock above us, giving us the time and the time of the train. This would have been quite a good idea, had both of the numbers stopped changing randomly. Down to our right, a homeless person had her belongings all over the benches and was talking to someone we could not see, but I was not going to be the one to tell here wasn't there. In fact, it looked like a tram stop, but was, in fact, a homeless gathering place.
Finally we realized we needed a ticket to board. We looked up and down the stop, and there wasn't a single ticket machine. Of course there wasn't a ticket machine; that's how things were going. Oh wait - I see one! Right across the tracks, on the side going the other direction. Of course it was on the other side. Off we went, our helpful friend saying not to bother, but we did anyway. Wife is dealing with the involved menu to purchase tickets, when some guy walks in back of the machine. No. NO. Please tell me NO! Yes. He was peeing on the ground. Wife was turning colors, unable to complete the transaction. I was mentally composing this blog. The other homeless people were appalled and started yelling at him.
As we were getting over how lucky we were to have been part of the spectacle, our tram pulled up. Only we were on the wrong side, thus 30 seconds too late to get on said tram. Of course we missed the tram... it wouldn't be right if we didn't. Another 20 minutes in paradise, til the next one. Oops, it's almost 30 minutes into the concert. Yay! Wife texted her friend that we were just hanging out in Beautiful Downtown Camden, with the nice drug addicted homeless folk, most of who really wanted to meet and chat with us about financial transactions. It was really not a place we were used to being, and swore we would never be again. Nowhere on the maps did it say WARNING: YOUR STATION IS IN THE WORST PART OF THE ENTIRE STATE AND YOU WILL HAVE TO WAIT AROUND WITH DRUG-ADDICTED HOMELESS PEOPLE AND NO SECURITY. That would have been a useful sign, but as I said, there are no signs in New Jersey.
Finally the tram arrived, and 5 stops later we were at the concert. The sounds of the opener, Cheap Trick, wafted through the air. I have never seen Cheap Trick, so this was supposed to be an opportunity. It would have been an opportunity, had the entire ride not taken three hours. There was no warning sign about that either.
But fate was not done with me yet.. there was a patdown before entering. The guy in front of me said we could thank 9-11 for that. Here was a smart, perceptive fellow. Since they had lawn seats, people brought chairs. There was a huge table with chairs, so I thought it was nice that they supplied them. Ah, no. They took them away from people. I'm groaning under my breath, but at least it wouldn't affect us. The patdown really pissed me off. Security Theater, just like airports. In the Philly stadiums ($50 parking, $250 seats), there are metal detectors. After surviving the groping, without them buying us dinner first, off we went to find the seats. When I commented to the Groper that she had the good gig, she said not anymore, as she was leaving in 2 more shows. I thanked her for that bit of wisdom.
Of course when I say off we went to find the seats, I mean off we went to get a soda. As I took a sip, I asked what she bought. Pepsi. Pepsi. Who the hell puts a Pepsi stand in a concert venue (or restaurant, hot dog stand, or store). Wife hates Pepsi too, so I'm not entirely sure why we were drinking Pepsi. They also failed to have Mountain Dew, the only acceptable Pepsi product. PERFIDY.
Looking up, there was a screen with Cheap Trick performing inside. Finally, we get to go in. And when I say go in, I mean go into the bathroom. The doctors say I have to remain calm and even gave me medicine to keep myself calm. There were no marked bathrooms - only a few doors into the concert. And I finally lost it. It was a stream of expletives that would get me jailed or committed (or both) in any public place in the country, except New York, where you get arrested if you don't perform Public Lunacy. Wife is not fond of my little breaks from sanity, but it was so loud, no one heard it but her.
We have different 'styles.' Mine goes from place to place, in a straight line. It just goes. Hers initially goes in a straight line, with at least 12 circular departures, shopping, soda purchasing, straight line, stopping for ice cream because the kids want some, straight line, stopping for the bathroom. I can generally keep myself quiet, like Charlie Manson, but it had become too much for me.
The usher-like lady said down and to the right. Where there were people sitting already. We communicated by hand signals and braille to let them know those were our seats. Eventually he pointed out, hands ablaze, that the usher had given us incorrect directions - it should've been down and left. Well, left.. right.. it's an easy mistake for someone who works there and seats thousands of people a night. They were good seats. We were pleased with them.
If you ever get a chance to see Cheap Trick, you should. I don't know more than 4 of their songs, but they were very entertaining. Rick Neilson, the guitarist, is a master of the stage, not to mention one of the first rock star vintage guitar collectors. He's known for his 5 neck guitar. He was all over the place, like a mad ringleader. I enjoyed them. Unfortunately, the mix sucked, so we couldn't make out a lot. Sound systems have become better exponentially, but a bad mix is a bad mix.
A row in front of us was a vision. She was the kind of girl who shows up and there's light around her. She even has a sound.... a celestial sound (ahhhhh). She was petite (my type), but still had everything in every right place (my type), with tight jeans (sometimes my type) and a short top with no bra (definitely, completely, undeniably my type). Even the Mrs. noticed her and pointed her out to me. She was moving in this hypnotic way, slithering, curving, dancing, and moving side to side in the most incredibly rhythmic motion. Never mind that she was young.. she was a vision. When I returned to reality, she was grinding on her boyfriend. Then sucking face with him. Then taking selfies (during the entire show). Then grinding again, stopping only to drink beer. Even a vision has its limits. When the Top played, everyone stood, as they should. Unfortunately we were in the row that started sitting - every row in back of us was sitting. Every row in front of us was standing. We were actually the demarcation line for sitting. Wife cannot stand for too long, so we sat. There were huge, clear monitors on each side, where we had to watch the concert, while the drunk lovebirds continued their drunk, chemically assisted writhing. Finally we decided that we didn't pay for tickets to watch the band on screens, so we found seats further down the row. I was terrified because they looked like they were moving with us, so our view could continue to be obscured. Wife also pointed out that she was completely obsessed with selfies, and he kept looking around to make sure everybody was watching them annoy us, and most of the people around us. The spot was good, and I got some decent shots on my phone's camera; which makes everything look half a mile away, even if you're 20' from the stage.
ZZ Top pointed out that this is their 50th year as a band, to thunderous applause. Most things said were greeted with thunderous applause. The mix was substantially better too. These guys always rock, and always put on a spectacular show. Unfortunately it was a short show, with no encores. But it was vintage ZZ Top - hits and good old stuff. I caught them using a backing track during Legs, but I think that was it. Wife pointed out that Dusty (bass) and Frank (drums) were wearing arthritis gloves. Well, the whole band is gittin up there.
I was aggravated from the entire circus just to get there, so I couldn't enjoy the concert. Public Transportation should buy us tickets, front row, for the next stop on the tour, plus a meet and greet, where the Reverend Willy G would sign my #1 guitar. But I woke up. We boarded the tram for the first ride back. Just as we were purchasing tickets (sans urine), they told us to just get on the train. Ok, we got on the train and waited. And waited. And watched all sorts of interesting people fill up the tram. And waited. The crowd was largely older than us, as I guess should be normal for this band, and some of them dressed as if they were much younger than us. If you have 40lbs to lose, don't wear pants so tight no one can find the zipper. If your shirt has holes in it on purpose, try not to have skin (or anything else) protrude from them. It's a courtesy to fellow riders who want to be able to eat sometime the following week.
The tram dropped us off on the ticket side of the drug-addicted homeless encampment, only some fat lady with a cart pushed right past the Mrs to get off the tram. Said Fat Lady was lucky to be allowed to live.... one does not piss off the Mrs. With or without cane, she will kill you. Or make you wish you were dead (there's a marriage joke in there somewhere, but I shall wisely avoid making it). The throng of Dirty White Folk and overweight people hanging out of their clothes made their way past the Dirty Drug-Addicted Homeless Folk and located their track. It would have been an interesting football game. We found the elevator, a minor miracle, and it didn't smell. Much.
Poof, we were back in Philthydelphia. As much as I hate Philly, it beats Camden, New Jersey. We discovered the train took us right to the parking garage. Wife laughed, as she mused that we weren't going to pass by the Gay Area, where she could watch 80% of the men checking me out. I neglected to laugh as hard, remembering that entire city block in the quaint town, when she pointed out I was incredibly popular. Now I know what women feel like... a piece of meat. Not that I ever made them feel like that, but it was not comfortable. Why couldn't I be that popular with women? When we walk past any non-gay establishment, women don't all stop what they're doing and silently, wishfully, watch me walk by. Hell, I'd settle for 10%. Before I was married, of course. She still cackled.
After locating the car park, which had moved a couple streets over since we parked the car, we took an elevator to the correct floor. On the wall was a sign: HOLD IT. Do not use this elevator as a bathroom, out of courtesy to the public.
Uh-oh.
Thankful to pay a small ransom to retrieve our car, I got the hell out. Then there were detours... Philly: You can't get there from here. If you can figure out a way, your tax dollars show up in holes you could put several cars in, manholes to run over and trash your suspension, lanes that appeared and disappeared randomly, complete assholes who are the only drivers on the road, so they can go the other way on a one way street, or pull out in front of you, as if you did not exist. When they're done flying by you, they slow to a crawl, 2 cars up, either drunk or stupid (or both). The absolute worst are the pedestrians. A brief perusal of the PA drivers manual told me I was not allowed to run them over. They were leaping out from all sides, entitled to be in the middle of the street, in the middle of traffic. And this did not include the drug-addicted, who stood in the middle of the street, as if it were a line for a cheesesteak Fortunately, Wife knows her way around, so we only got lost twice.
Since it was almost 1am, it was time for dinner. Who sleeps before work anyway?
Before I went to bed, I asked her if we were going that way next time, or driving. She had to think about it for a microsecond. I did not require even half a microsecond. I decided we won't have those problems EVER AGAIN. When we drive someplace we don't know, it tends to get a little heated. When I say a little heated, I mean like the Allies against Germany, but not as well-mannered (or quiet). I'd rather scream the entire 2 hours there and pay $40 for parking in the regular spot when we specified handicapped spot.
The friend who said public transportation was a breeze? We're not speaking to him anymore.
