Dirty Water, Drama City

Last Night's Tire-ade

Gotta love Restaurant Week here in Boston. For those of you who don't know about this, I'm sorry you’ve missed out. It's the week in Boston where you can go to a list of 100+ restaurants in the city for a three-course $30 dinner or $20 lunch. We hit up Spire on Tuesday for lunch, which was great, and last night we headed out to Cambridge to Upstairs on the Square, one of the most overpriced places in the city to get our $30 dinner.

Having sworn off the T as much as possible, especially any instance where I have to change from the Green line to the Red (or any line at all for that matter), Cramer went suburban on us and picked us up in a car. I haven't been in a car in a while but last night reminded me why I haven’t missed it. Across the Mass Ave. bridge I heard a sound coming from Cramer's car and to which he responded it was nothing. Closer to Temple Street I said "I think you're driving on a rim, you have a flat." After a biker looked over at us with a look of what the?! as we passed him, we ran a red light and pulled over to where a group of cops were hanging out ready to give Cramer a ticket for running the light, until we all stepped out of the car and realized that his back tire, was indeed, flat.

Current time: 8:40. Our dinner reservations were for 8:30. Kinsey was already there waiting. I popped the trunk and, with the help of the cop’s flashlight, located the spare. So there I was in a pleated silk knee-length skirt, squatting over on the side of Mass Ave. screwing off the lug nuts, one little bastard at a time. One of the cops finally decided to help because I wasn't strong enough to get them all free by myself. I jacked up the car which took longer than it should have, while more and more people gathered to watch the scene unfold adding their two cents, saying things like, "how many people does it take to change a tire?" as though changing a tire were as easy as putting on a pair of trousers. I told one butch woman who boasted she could change a tire in less than five minutes that she deserved an award, "really, you do," I said giving her my best rendition of a withering look from my low position on the pavement. She didn't appreciate that very much, but my new cop friends found it funny.

So Cramer and Curly stood with me, Curly attempting to hold down my skirt that was blowing up in the wind, as I replaced the tire, screwed back the lug nuts and lowered the jack. Time 9:10. They applauded my effort, as slow as it might have been, noting the old adage “give a man a fish, feed him for a day, teach a man to fish, feed him for a lifetime.” Trash.

We finally made it to Harvard Square on the donut. I showed up at dinner, hands black with axle grease, tired, and hungry, ready for my last meal of Restaurant Week to commence. Two glasses of wine later, I decided it was worth the struggle it took to get there. Time 9:30.

posted by Victoria Comella @ 9:32 AM