An account of the return trip from Boston to Hanover after a game as experienced by P. Erin Broderick '99, Libby Craig '00, Susan Crangle '01, Chloe Holmes '01, and Alice Pope '01.
...or, wherever we were.
tight five as in two second rows, two props, and a second-row-turned-hooker. the position seems to be a contagious disease.
so as pope and i were sitting in the back of the cop car, looking at that huge gun sitting right in front of us, with libby, brod, and chloe probly already in the police department but maybe still in their second police car ride of the evening, we decided to try to figure out exactly how we managed to get ourselves into the position we were in.
it all started with friendly's. why did we go there? i don't really know. i've never even heard of the place. but brod was REAL excited about her damn grilled cheese and french fries, so there we went.
we knew it was going to be an interesting evening when the waitress burst out laughing as soon as brod opened her mouth.
we managed to survive the experience, though, filled up with gas (aren't we thoughtful?), after convincing the non-english speaking gas attendant that yes, we were at the pump for a reason.
and we headed off.
after a little while (i can't tell you exactly how long, i happened to be asleep for the bulk of the "while"), i woke up to find my compadres trying to figure out how the hell to get north on 89 when we had been travelling south for some distance.
no big deal.
we managed to get to where we were sposda be.
and then. it happened.
"woah, the car smells a little hot."
"maybe that's just pope."
"no, that's not the smell of someone hot."
"seriously. look behind us. there's smoke."
so we pulled off the highway at the first exit we saw. we thought it would be a good place to stop, because of the blue sign that said "services". little did we know that the services were not anywhere NEAR the exit, and the car was really about to die.
so there we were.
five big dumb forwards, too stupid to know how to fix the damn car.
that didn't stop us from opening the hood. we all peered at the engine for awhile, wondering aloud if anyone had a flashlight, or if anyone knew what the radiator was sposda be doing, or what coolant was, or whatever.
but we could all change tires. well, except chloe.
in true dartmouth style, we filled the radiator coolant container from a nalgene. dartmouth spring water, no less. hey. water's pretty cool, right?
it didn't work.
a "sweet old hick" as libby called him, stopped to help us.
he managed to get us to a gas station where there were no mechanics. it was really nice of him, but didn't help much.
libby, after asking twice what kind of oil the car needed, decided that s10 would be twice as good as s5 oil. besides, that's what they had.
so we were going to follow the nice old hick to a service station. unfortunately, we did not make it more than a few miles down the road before the engine started making a loud buzzing noise. positive that the car was on fire, all five of us threw open the doors, shielded our mouths and noses from the smoke, and dove out of the car. we then ran about 30 feet back, before realizing that alice had forgotten to turn off the car.
so we sent her back.
libby made sure to count us twice to make sure we were all surviving.
at this point, we could not see the car, because of the smoke.
half of us were still trying to convince the other half that sure, we could make it to hanover, it was only 40 miles away.
we never said we were smart.
the nice old hick took brod and libby to a pay phone. meanwhile, they found out that he was just trying to get chinese food for his family, and we were ruining his evening.
so they let him leave.
at this point, chloe, pope, and i, were sitting on a big rock, thinking about the movie "breakdown" (nope, we haven't seen it either, but the previews were scary), and having a heart to heart talk.
and then the cop came.
we didn't exactly know what he was doing there. we couldn't see in the car, because the damn blue lights were too bright. we said hi, but he didn't respond. he was busy talking on the phone. we thought maybe there was somebody else in the car with him, because we thought we heard somebody else respond when we said hi. great. a random killer suspect, a cop, and us, on the highway. what better way to spend a saturday night.
but hey! guess what! it was brod and libby! woohoo! we're saved.
brod had called triple a to get the car towed. unfortunately, she only had the basic plan, which meant that we could get towed 3 measly miles.
so the tow truck driver (bob, his shirt said), got the car up on the truck. and we all got rides with the cops.
did you ever know how small the back of cop cars are? man, they treat those criminals cruelly. if you ever decide to get caught by a police officer, hope that you're a short kid.
i'm sure kessler would agree.
so we got to the new london police department. pope and i walked to the service station, while the rest of them tried to figure out who to call to come pick us up.
let us remind you that it was already 8:30 on a saturday night.
and NONE OF YOU ALL were home.
but pope and i were filling out the paperwork, and suddenly, we realized, that pope's not one of those "budget triple a" people, oh no. she does nothing cheaply. she had the triple a PLUS plan.
for an extra thirty dollars a year, you can get 100 miles towed.
so bob said, hey, i'll take you back to hanover.
thank god alice was smart and gave him her card, rather than brod's worthless piece of crap. or libby's expired card.
so now we could get the car back to hanover.
but the truck could only hold 3 people. well, four, counting bob. at least, that's what he said. upon looking into the cab, and taking a second glance at bob, though, alice and i assessed the situation and changed the "three other than bob" to "one other than bob." and a small "other than bob."
and there were 6 of us, counting bob. and we're all BIG dumb forwards.
we thought, hey, maybe we can sit in the car while it's being towed.
turns out, ya can't.
so we continued our search for a ride back to hanover.
we called the taxi service in town. libby hung up as soon as the answering machine picked up, because she was sure it was a wrong number. it said, "hi, you have reached mrs. robin and mr. robin..."
well, turns out that that IS the taxi service, they just happen to be regular people too.
but they were gone.
so. well, still no ride.
we decided to try to sweet talk our way into getting bob to take us all.
he didn't seem to have a problem with it, as long as the police didn't mind.
so we, uh, well, just pretended like we asked.
so there we were.
bob. and five big dumb forwards. in a cab of a truck that would generally hold maybe two or three of us.
phenomenal cosmic power...itty bitty living space.
so it was fun. we learned all about bob, and the moose that he hit, and the girl that he undercharged cause she wanted to use the money for a prom dress, and general information like that. i would tell you more, but i really want to keep this blitz short.
and we got to hanover.
six and a half hours after leaving boston.
we're on our way to find you.
none of us has showered.
heck, i'm still wearing my damn jersey.
we all smell like sewage.
and the most common color of any exposed skin is dark crusty brown.
we know you can't wait to see us.
the car sits at mobile.
ps. we love you tetler....