Spring semester at school ended a few weeks ago, and summer session started at the beginning of this week. I’m taking one class this summer in an effort to graduate a semester or more early to save as much money as possible (which is all relative [read: a joke] as my loans are catastrophic). I also keep my job in the career services department over the summer, which means that three days a week I get on the commuter rail at the ass crack of dawn (or 8:00. Again, all relative), then make the ten minute walk through Boston to get to my school. And as I’m sitting here on a Saturday afternoon, blogging and drinking coffee out of a giant yellow mug I got on clearance at Crate and Barrel, like any sane person, and a week of summer classes and work under my belt, I would like to describe for you all of the reasons why the people of Boston must think I am absolutely off of my rocker.
1. Bag Lady
The types of bags I carry vary depending on if I have class, or just work (2 days work and class, 1 day just work all day). If it’s just work, I carry my purse (which is admittedly large and features many pockets and compartments [read: awesome]), and on class days I carry my Vera Bradley messenger bag. Either way, I also have a plastic bag with work shoes, the empty travel mug of coffee I finished on the train, and a rain coat. The rain coat has to be a staple because, as I learned last year when I took the train to work, someone thinks it’s funny to make it rain when I have to run through Boston to catch the train, even if there was no forecast of inclement weather. Bringing a rain coat, I find, makes it less funny for that someone. If I am prepared to remain dry, it is just not fun for them. At any rate, I have more than one large and unwieldy bag that I lug with me.
2. Coffee Spillage
First off, when I put the “empty” travel mug into the plastic bag with my shoes and rain coat, it inevitably has the tiniest amount of coffee left in it. Not enough to bother drinking, or even see and recognize as problematic. Just enough to leak into the bag, and through the bottom. So as I’m walking to work, the people around me on the street see a girl carrying what would appear to be every single thing she owns, and a brown mystery liquid is leaking from her bag. Not to mention, the train ride is always bumpy, so usually I manage to spill coffee on myself. Generally when I’m wearing white. Always when I’m wearing white.
I walk very fast, my reasons for which are threefold. First of all, I am always worried about being late for work or missing the train. I never am, but I attribute this to speed walking. Secondly, I drink a lot of coffee on the train, and I always have to pee. And third, I have a lot of long-legged friends. I am only 5’4″, and my legs contribute to a small percentage of that height (to give you an idea, my little brother is about 5’8″ or taller and has long legs. But when we sit down, I’m taller). And most of my friends are on the high end of 5 feet, and one or two are flirting with 6 feet. Naturally, they walk faster than me just because their legs get more distance than mine. As a result, I have to walk extra fast to keep up with them, so I got in the habit of walking fast, even when I’m not with them. But no matter what the reason, a person booking it down the street at 9:00 in the morning always looks a little unbalanced. And can I just mention that most people walk far too slow, like they have no where to be? I don’t believe they have no where to be. This is especially true of tourists, who stop in the middle of the sidewalk to take pictures in front of the 7-11, which is really not historical Boston. I always want to point them in the direction of the Public Gardens, which are exceedingly nicer than the convenience store, not to mention out of my direct walking path.
This is the big one, and I want no judgement. Because I certainly don’t wear Crocs to work, I just wear them to walk there, then I change, because no one can comfortably walk in fancy shoes, and I have quite a ways to go. And I don’t have the clog kind of Crocs, I have the Mary Jane kind that are not AS clunky. And they’re not a bright obnoxious color, they’re a pale shade of pearlescent pink. The thing about Crocs is that people make fun of them, but they are the people who have never owned a pair. Because once you put them on and walk for awhile, they are exceedingly comfortable. (My fashionable roommate tells me this is not an excuse, and they are acceptable under no conditions. But she wears leggings as pants, so you decide who’s crazy. I still love you though, Amy 😀 ).
The thing is, I wear my Crocs with dresses, which I accept makes me look bat shit crazy. I just can’t justify walking to work in dress shoes or flip flops. But I know I look crazy. It’s cool.
(As a side note: a man who looked like a fatter version of Newman from Seinfeld drove past me in a mini-van one day last summer, and slowed down when he saw me. He leaned as much of his gigantic torso out of the window as possible, and yelled at me, “Well hello there sweetheart!” Then he did a weird thing with his eyebrows and drove away cackling. This is certainly not an everyday occurrence, but gross middle-aged men say things on occasion. It comes with being in a city. But I will say that when I wear my dress-Crocs combination, no one says anything to me. No one. You tell me who the crazy one is.)