And there was much rejoicing...I said rejoice dammit

It all seemed easy enough; Anton and I were to go to a soccer game at four o’clock on a Saturday. The game was the New England Revolution’s home opener (against my home team, the Crew) and the game was going to be at Gillette Stadium. Being in Boston and having gotten quite used to the great public transportation, I had assumed that getting to the stadium wouldn’t be all that hard. I figured that the stadium would be fairly close to the city, and even if it weren’t directly accessible by T, then buses or something would be running the public to and from the event. I also figured, if worse came to worst, a cab was always an option. So with nary a transportation care in my mind, I bought my tickets online and planned on having the details fall into place.

With my luck, I guess I should be glad that the stadium is located in Massachusetts at all. The day after I bought the tickets, which was about two days before the game, I looked up the stadium online to get directions, thinking that they would have something about a bus or train route. Instead they only had driving directions. “No worries,” thought I, “I’ll just look on the MBTA site and see if there’s a bus or something that goes there.” The MBTA site, while very helpful at times, was not as helpful as I had hoped. I learned that there were no trains or busses that went to the stadium (well, there was a train, but it only ran for football games). Instead, I discovered that the closest I could get by public transportation was to within about three miles, which wasn’t bad, but wasn’t good either. The site has a very convenient “Trip Planner” feature where you can type in your starting point and destination and they will magically give you a few routes you can take.

Well, I typed in my info and was promptly told that I’d need to take a bus and a train to get to Walpole, and then I’d be on my own for the last few miles. I figured that there would be cabs or a bus or something in Walpole that would take us the last leg, and if there wasn’t, then we’d just have to walk. Because of the train schedule, we would wind up in Walpole about two hours before the start of the game, so we would have plenty of time to walk the last three miles if need be. I printed off the Trip Planner with the bus and train information and decided that everything was going to go smoothly.

In all fairness, things could have been worse. Anton and I followed the directions to the bus stop for the first leg of the trip, and we were pleasantly surprised when it turned out to be much closer than we thought. We wound up getting there about twenty minutes before the bus was scheduled to come, so we ran across the street to the QuickieMart to get some food for the road. With snacks in Anton’s messenger bag and fifteen minutes to spare before the bus was to come, we just stood at the stop and watched the million Red Sox fans walk by us on their way to Fenway.

The fifteen minutes came and went and there was no bus. Another fifteen minutes came and went, and there was still no bus. While our train wasn’t going to leave for another forty-five minutes, Anton and I decided to forgo the bus and catch a cab to the station. Ten minutes and $7 later, we arrived at the train station. Had I known that we were so close, we probably would have just walked, but I hadn’t so we didn’t. Right when we got to the station, a train pulled in. I checked the number on the front of the train, and since it didn’t match up with the train on my Trip Planner, and we were half an hour early, we decided not to get on and to just wait.

Several poker hands and mp3s later, another train pulled into the station. Again, the number on the front of the train didn’t match with my Trip Planner, but we asked the conductor if we could take this train to Walpole and boarded when told, quite condescendingly, that we could.

The train ride itself was about half an hour and we disembarked at Walpole without any problems. When we stepped off the train we were surprised to be seemingly in the middle of nowhere. We walked out of the parking lot, headed towards the only road we saw and headed left to search for civilization. Luckily for us, we had chosen the right direction to walk in as we soon found ourselves in downtown Walpole, or at least an area that had a lot of little businesses and some people running around. Not seeing any cabs or buses, we decided to ask for directions. We didn’t see the gas station at first, so instead we wandered into a sandwich shop.

Us: Hi. We’re trying to get to Gillette Stadium. Could you give us directions?

Lady: Oh sure. Where are you parked?

Us: Um, we don’t have a car.

Lady: How did you get here then?

Us: We took the train.

Lady: Oh my. Well, the stadium is about five or six miles. How are you planning to get there?

Us: Well, we thought it was only about three miles, so we were going to walk.

Lady: Ok, well getting there is pretty easy. Just go up to the light, turn right and

stay on that road. What are you going there for?

Us: Soccer game. It doesn’t start for another two hours though.

Lady: Well, good luck to you!

And so we headed up the road and cursed the lack of public transportation in Walpole. We soon stumbled upon a gas station, and since it’s always good to have more than one set of directions, we stopped in to get a second opinion. I asked what I thought was the station attendant for directions. The guy turned out to be a customer whose car wouldn’t start.

Us: Hi. We’re trying to get to Gillette Stadium. Could you give us directions?

Guy: Oh sure. Where are you parked?

Us: Um, we don’t have a car, we took the train.

Guy: Oh my. Well, the stadium is about five or six miles. How are you planning

to get there?

Us: Well, at this point, we’re walking.

Guy: Ok, well tell you what, my car is parked two minutes away. I think it

won’t start because it’s out of gas. Once I get some gas into it though, if it

starts, I’ll give you a ride.

Us: Ok, thanks!

Now, I would never hitchhike by myself, and probably not even if I had another girl with me. But Anton is pretty tall, and while he doesn’t speak much, he can seem somewhat intimidating. Also, the guy was older (about 50), he spoke of his wife, and he didn’t give off scary psycho killer vibes, though I suppose the better psycho killers don’t give off psycho killer vibes either. Anyway, I had my cell phone on me, my friends knew our itinerary, and being young and seemingly immortal, I decided that I could go with this guy and be okay.

Then it turned out he was a crazy psycho killer. Just kidding. He was very nice and we had a nice chat about the current political situation and the probability of the two party system coming to an end (he was a diehard Green Party member, and while I’m a registered Democrat, I do keep up with the Greens, so I was able to hold up my end of the debate). Anton just sat there all quiet and as imposing as he could be. Anyway, after a few minutes, we were dropped off at the stadium with an hour and a half until the start of the game.