Of Car Keys and Nervous Breakdowns

Yesterday, as you probably know, Rebecca and Sachi went to camp. My mom drove Rebecca there, and I went along. My dad, meanwhile, was driving Marianne to visit relatives on Long Island, New York. Sachi and Jesse, who was also going to the same camp, were driven by Jesse's parents. When we arrived, a counselor told us to park tightly because many cars would be coming. We happened to be among the early people to arrive, so there was a lot of room, but we did what we were told and parked tightly next to a pick-up truck. We then took Rebecca into the camp, gave them the forms, and stood around for awhile, talking to people and looking at the camp. Eventually, Sachi and Jesse arrived, and soon after that we left. We got into the car and put it into reverse, only to realize that now there was no way to get out! The parking lot was parked so tightly that there was no room for manoeuvring. We tried and tried, but alas, it was in vain. It was getting hot in the car, so we got out and walked around in the woods for awhile. At some point, we met Jesse's parents coming back along the trail from the camp, and warned them that they might have trouble getting out. They looked and came to the conclusion that we were the only people parked in such a way that we couldn't escape. But being the nice people that they are, they decided to try to manoeuvre our car out anyway. Ray took our car keys and got it, backed up and just missed hitting another car by two inches, drove back in and tried turning the other way. She then came to the same conclusion that we came to long before--there was no way out. We thanked her for trying, and said goodbye, as they went to their car to leave. Just as we started to walk back to our car, Ray called out, "Here, take your car keys! Wouldn't that have been a nice development, if we drove off with your keys?" I can only wonder what would have happened if they had driven away with our keys. Since my dad was in New York, there was no way to call for him to pick us up. I suggested that we could walk to a nearby bed and breakfast inn that I knew of, but my mom said that you can't get a hotel room without car keys. I guess we could have begged the camp to give us a bunk bed to sleep in that night.

For those of you who don't know, I am close to finishing my work in the lab at MIT, and have to write a paper and make a poster to present to the other BU research people on Friday. Today I decided to come home early to work on my paper. I got a nice seat on the Riverside train because it wasn't rush hour, and I went zooming along. It seemed as though things were going well. But then, something strange happened. At the Reservoir stop, a man got in and sat next to me. He was talking loudly to nobody in sight, and I thought that was strange. I wondered if he had one of those cell phone things that you wear on your head, but I didn't see one. And he was saying the strangest things. Shouting to the rest of the train about idiot jerks at Harvard: "Go watch your water polo, idiot jerks!..." At one point he mentioned a girl in high school who if she was angry at someone, would refuse to talk to the person: "Just four-letter words. That's all she said, four-letter words all the time...She should have gone to Wellesley...she was a good writer. She could have gone to Wellesley and become a poet...that's what the girls do at Wellesley...But no, (name) was going to Wellesely, so she couldn't go there! They don't do good poetry at Princeton..." He mentioned his mother: "My mother has no respect for me. Nobody has any respect for me, not even my mother!" Then he went on to talk about how he would have had a good job, but no, his mother ruined everything! He also kept referring to someone named Victor. I don't know if he thought he was talking to me, or if he had just gone crazy. I think he was having a nervous breakdown. I saw other passengers looking at each other with strange expressions, so it was evident that they had similar thoughts. I was glad when I got off the train at Newton Center.

-Philip