Boston Brunhilde

This weekend, Tim and I packed up the puppies for a visit with grandma and grandpa and then trundled ourselves up to Boston for a friend's wedding. We took JetBlue, which I've previously discussed (seeing as how they have taken up the title of "reigning airline" for me) - though I will take one more moment to mention that they have cute little sayings flashing on the TV screens once you've landed (and before you take off) - things like, "If it weren't for you, we'd just be flying TVs around the country" and "Don't tell anyone, but you're our favorite customer." Just kinda cute and amusing.

So anyway, we met one of the two other friends from college who were making the journey out to the wedding at the airport (he was able to arrange his flight to correspond with ours) and went to Ye Olde Rental Car Shack. Thinking that there would be four of us plus luggage, Tim and I had reserved a "larger" vehicle. This essentially put us in a mini-van. When we checked in we got an option between a Caravan and an Outlander (Chrysler vs. Chevy). Being temporarily mentally ill, we opted for the Outlander. What a moronic car. I really think, all things being equal, we'd have been just as comfortable (if not more so) and had just as much luggage room (if not more) in a full sized sedan. But whatever. We thought we were being smart and cost-wise the upgrade was basically free, so...no biggie. (Other than the fact that it just solidifies in my mind that Chevys are horrible, horrible cars.)

Well, we get the luggage in, get ourselves in and prepare to embark. I have taken the back seat thinking Tim and Mississippi Man would like to chat/catch up and that's easier in the front seat. And I can eavesdrop just fine from the middle. Plus, Mississippi Man brought his portable GPS and needs to be right there to program/interpret what it tells us. So, we wait for the satellites to be acquired and the route to be calculated and discuss the fact that the bus driver for Ye Olde Rental Shack had only said nine or ten times that we would need to go Left-Left-Right to get to where we were heading upon leaving the Shack (due to the Big Dig road changes). That in mind, we headed out.

So we're toodling along and Mississippi Man and Tim are happily chatting away with me interjecting occasionally and the now-dubbed "Brunhilde the GPS Maven" periodically confirming the instructions of the Rental Shack bus driver, we figure we're made in the shade. Mississippi Man took (with some distaste) the backup Google Map directions I had printed out, thinking that crosschecking Brunhilde with google occasionally probably wouldn't be a huge sin in the overall scheme of things. This was great, right up until the fourth turn. Or to be more apt, the first EXIT.

A little backstory is now appropriate. Mississippi Man fully admitted (and warned us) that Brunhilde was about two years behind the times as far as her maps went. So this is why I passed up the google maps. The Big Dig was completed more recently than two years ago. See where I'm going with this? Just in case you don't, let's also mention that satellites lose their signal often when you're in a tunnel. The Big Dig created lots of tunnels. It's hard to leave Logan Airport without travelling through at least one tunnel.

Back to the toodling, we're in the tunnel leaving the airport and Brunhilde has informed us that she has "Lost satellite receptionnn" but that's ok, we have the Google map backup. Mississippi Man and Tim are chattering, I'm listening but also looking out the window a little (tunnels fascinate me) and I see an exit zoom by that faintly jingles in the back of my mind as having been important. So I ask Mississippi Man and he glances at the backup and thinks no, we're fine. So we come out of the tunnel and we're zooming along and start looking for the exit, and Brunhilde chimes in (with what will become our battle cry for the entire weekend) "Off Route." Well, that's just dandy. So we're trying to figure out how to turn around when we zip past Fenway Park. We continue looking for a good place to turn around and end up at a toll booth.

Tim, being the wise man that he is, decides to ask the toll booth lady where we can turn around and get back going the other direction to possibly find the exit we needed to take. The toll booth lady says, "Turn at the lights by the Hess." Tim says, "That will get us to where we can" and the toll booth lady says, "You TURN at the LIGHT by the HESS." Very annoyed with our clear idiocy. Now, had it been rush hour with a huge pile of other toll patrons gathering behind us, I might understand better. As it was, there might've been tumbleweeds blowing across the road behind us. So with a, "Yes ma'am, thank you." to the rude toll lady, we toodle down the exit, now completely lost, Brunhilde is sulking because we went off route and she's a little too slow and old to recalculate and help us out, and we have no idea where this mythical Hess is that we can turn at and get back on the other direction.

Two miles later we see the Hess. We manage to get back on in the opposite direction (telling the very nice toll gentleman, "Hopefully you won't see us again because we'll stop being lost." To which he offered an appreciative chuckle and well wishes. We contemplated yelling across the lane to the Hess lady something pithy, but decided against it.) We zipped back on our way, past Fenway park again (and I managed to get a few neat pictures that actually turned out ok) and there - there was our blissful exit. From that point on, once we regained our route, Brunhilde was helpful. But boy we could've used her direction when we were actually lost. What good is a GPS that only tells you where to go when you already know?

We got to the hotel without further incident, checked in and went to find lunch (at 2:30). Tim waited in the car while Mississippi Man and I went to try and check in (we knew we were early) so while the nice hotel lady was getting a list of local restaurants and directions there to, I wandered back to the car and really had Tim convinced that they had messed up Mississippi's registration and he - and his roommate that came in Friday - were going to have to share our room. And oh by the way, they only had a King room available.

His reaction typifies Tim and is a clear example of why I love him so. There was, at first, incredulity, "But...he had a reservation!"
Me: Yeah, but somehow it got messed up.
Tim (still processing): But..it was confirmed.
Me (shrugging): I know, he's trying to straighten it out but...I said we could make it work. What's the alternative?
Tim (shaking his head): This'll be interesting.

That's it. No fury. No muss. No fuss. Just calm acceptance and a decision to make the best.

Tomorrow...Brunhilde and the Witches.