My voyage of the dang-nabit can properly be said to have begun the morning of Wednesday, October 7, though I wouldn't actually begin my drive to Boston until the next morning.
Part of pretending to be a big-time journalist is having the proper tools, so after I dropped child #1 off at pre-K, child #2 and I went shopping. After buying a steno pad and business card blanks, we went to Future Shop, a Canadian chain of stores that sells electronics, CDs, and computer gear.
Do you remember Northern Exposure, specifically the episode where Shelley returns to Canada and shops? Remember her comments about the Canadian way to sell retail, i.e. sit in a corner of the store and read a book? Trust me, it really works that way up here. Which is why I was so surprised to be pounced upon by a Future Shop saleslady.
I needed to buy a microcassette recorder with a microphone jack, voice-activated recording, and multi-speed playback. The saleswoman showed me one then quickly hustled me over to a more expensive model shielded by a locked glass case. Admittedly, this sacred model, with an oversized microphone that made it look like a mini camcorder, was cool, but it also was too expensive for something I will only use a handful of times each year. I settled for the first one, which, according to my new friend, had all the features I needed.
That night, as I packed for the trip, I opened my new toy. It did not have a mic jack. It did not have multi-speed playback. I don't remember whether it had voice-activated recording or not.
I had three choices. I could live with what I bought (ha!), use it over the weekend and return it when I got back, or wait until Future Shop opened the next morning to return it and hope to find something more appropriate in the States. My conscience couldn't bear option two, so I delayed my departure Thursday morning until after the store opened at 10 a.m.
Ready for a test of wills, I hit the Future Shop customer service desk as soon as the store opened Thursday morning. Lo and behold, the gentleman took the recorder back and took the charge off my credit card, no questions asked. Forty-five minutes later, I had left the island of Montreal (yes, Montreal is an island).
Thursday was gloomy. Constant cloud cover hounded me until I reached Lynn, Mass., where I would be staying. The Ig Nobel ceremony would start at 7:30 on the Harvard campus in Cambridge, about 11 miles away as the crow flies and about double that along the road.
I made a few phone calls, showered, ate, and left Lynn at 5:30. The rain had picked up and I found a Circuit City along Highway 1. After nearly ramming a white Cadillac in the parking lot (thank goodness for ABS brakes), I leaped from the official Netsurfer Minivan of Good Will and hustled into the store. A salesman, Charles Shitto (I remember his name for some reason), grabbed me with speed that would have put the Future Shop woman to shame. To add to her hypothetical embarrassment, he directed me right to a model that had everything I needed. Five minutes later, I was back on the road, recording my little heart out.
I followed Highway 1 to the Tobin Bridge. From this point, I think the best way to have you experience what I did is to let you listen to the tape but instead of burdening you with an unnecessary audio file, you can follow along in text.
6:42 - Still on the Tobin Bridge. Although I can now see the sign that says "South Highway 1, Highway 93 to Boston". This is taking a while.
6:56 - I am in the tunnel, for those of you who know Boston.
7:06 - Still in the tunnel. I'm starting to think about things I should write about other than the Ig Nobels. The car in front of me has a Led Zeppelin sticker on it, a Harley Davidson sticker on it, and a couple of other stickers I can't read without getting dangerously close, a "Motorcycles are everywhere: check twice, save lives " bumper sticker. You've gotta assume the person inside is - well, he wears black and/or leather on occasion. Yet he drives a green Geo Metro. How about that?
As you can see, I was losing patience, sanity, talent, you name it.
7:08 - I would just like to emphasize that your author would never, ever contemplate getting out of his car and running himself over to get himself out of his traffic misery because it would cause pain to his loved ones and everybody behind him, who aren't at fault for this traffic jam.
7:10 - I think the woman in the sport ute behind me - actually, it is a Jeep - is kinda sweet on me, because she's consistently driving only two inches away from my (expletive deleted) ass.
7:12 - I am out of the tunnel and back in the rain.
7:16 - I'm going up some kind of ramp and we're all getting into single file for some reason. This is such a lovely part of Boston in the gloom of a rainy October night, but hey, at least I can work, right?
We're now merging with another stream of traffic from some other on-ramp and I think the big problem here is that people in Boston just don't know how to merge.
7:24 - I've just completed a climbing 360 and I see the exit for Storrow Drive, which is where I'm supposed to go, so let's see where this takes me.
7:26 - Storrow Drive West. Moving along at a good clip. No traffic.
7:30 - I'm officially late. I also officially scared the crap out of myself because I turned on the rear window wiper and it sounded like a car skidding right into my back. My heart leaped up into my throat.
7:33 - I realize I've missed my turn. I'm crossing over the Charles River to Cambridge nonetheless. I'll have to double back on the other side of the river.
7:37 - Whoops! Back to the south bank.
7:40 - OK, back across the Charles yet again. I was on Beacon Street, but I still have no idea where I am. I know I have to get to Broadway and Quincy and hopefully just going north on whatever street this is, I'll hit Broadway, and maybe I'll even find parking. I feel a parking ticket coming on.
7:41 - You know, rereading my directions, it appears that, perhaps, my earlier assessment of being in the wrong place at if not the wrong time then certainly the right time, but 20 minutes too late, was wrong and that I was in the right place. Or something like that - I'll work on that sentence.
7:42 - It looks like I'm on Massachusetts Avenue which will eventually take me somewhere near where I want go. More or less....
7:47 - Still on my way. I wouldn't have been more than ten minutes late if I hadn't thought I was wrong. Oh, well.
7:51 - I reach Broadway.
7:51 - With hope born of desperation, I pass by the supposed parking garage to look for parking on the street.
7:53 - I beat a hasty retreat to the parking garage.
7:55 - I find a parking spot.
7:58 - I finally make it in time for a marching exhibition of the Museum of Bad Art.
The ceremony takes place without incident. Then it's time to leave....
11:04 - Back in the car. Awfully wet. A little hungry. Gotta pee, too. But I got a souvenir, a big cardboard bear claw.
11:19 - Starrow and Highway 1 and there's still traffic! On Thursday night, not even a weekend!