It’s Sunday morning. I wake up, look around the room, head throbbing and realize that maybe last night I had one drink too many. Stay calm, I tell myself. But really there’s no need to panic, I’m safe and really that’s all that matters. I reluctantly reach under my pillow to pull out my phone that usually spends the night under the safety of my own head, knowing deep down that it would be a miracle if it were there. I retract my hand with no phone in sight. Damn, I guess a miracle isn’t in my favor today.
If there’s one thing you don’t want to happen while visiting a school that is several states away, it’s losing your phone. I mean seriously ladies, think about it. Our phones are the centers of our little worlds and hold together all of the important details of our young lives in one small, white rectangular device. So I held my breath, got out of bed, and let my day move forward.
After going on an adventure around campus with my boyfriend on a hunt for my lost phone, we returned to his dorm with no luck. My Sunday was running away from me too fast, and all I wanted was to spend the last few hours I had with my boyfriend doing something fun, rather than stressing about my lost phone. So I put it aside for the time being. But with a late afternoon flight from Philly back to Boston, it wasn’t long before I had to think about it again.
I started to throw all my clothes back in my over-packed suitcase used for my quick weekend getaway, when panic struck again. Oh no, I said to my bf, where is my bankcard? Horror stricken, I realized that I had really overdone it the night before. Side by side with my twenty one year old arm candy, I had felt on top of the world at a bar with him, only to find myself hitting rock bottom a mere twelve hours later. So what did I do? I called my parents.
I kind of felt like this sad puppy.
They were not happy to say the least. I sheepishly asked my dad to pick me up from Logan and drive me back to BC, when he responded with “you can take the T.” A luxury I have always had at college is having my parents so close to school. On days when I’m too lazy to go to CVS or want to eat a meal not in Mac, I call my mom or dad and they usually are overjoyed to come see me. But not this time. Upset and surprised by my father’s reaction, I geared up for my adventure home, from Philadelphia back to the Heights in Chestnut Hill. No phone. No bankcard.
Everything went smoothly. I said goodbye to my boyfriend with the glimmer of happiness that I would soon be home for the summer, turned towards the terminal and proceeded on my journey. It wasn’t until I landed back in Boston that I realized how independent I really was capable of being. I found the Silver Line of the T all by myself having the idea in my head that it was a train, not a bus. I boarded the bus and got to south station, where I switched for the red line, got off at Park Street, and found my usual way back to BC on the D line.
This is when it hit me. My dad wasn’t being mean or punishing me for being a completely silly drunken college girl over the weekend. No; he was actually teaching me one of the most meaningful life lessons. He guided me towards independence. Instead of relying completely on my parents to come pick me up and “save me,” or even Uber for that matter, I was able to get myself back to where I needed to be.
I never thought I would say this, but the T actually did something good for me: it helped me grow. So next time you’re about to complain about public transportation, remember, that even the most insignificant parts of our day, like riding the T, can teach us some of the most valuable life lessons.
Also, I got my phone back and my bankcard! This story does in fact have a happy ending!
Photo Sources:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Green_Line_(MBTA)
http://www.pcmag.com/article2/0,2817,2409999,00.asp
http://sciencelakes.com/ct/8852437-sad-puppy.html