Flash Point

I miss my camera terribly. My parents are in Israel and my camera is there with them until the end of the week. I suppose I miss them, too. In all the bustle of being away every weekend, and having just so many friends to see (i.e. two) everywhere, I forgot to share this story from last week. The fifteen worst Friday minutes ever.

The evening started out innocuous enough. It was Old Ham's birthday and we waited for hours for a table at Border Cafe. There was much moaning and whining, but all was forgiven when we sat down and dug in to those chips and salsa. I'm fairly certain that I ate my weight in chips and salsa that night. Anyway, we were all there, happy and celebratory, and then we left. That was when everything went downhill.

We got into the T station at Harvard and immediately, Old Ham et al start running because they saw a train approach. We huffed and puffed and held the door open. Seven made it. Too bad there were nine of us. And one kid bumped his head in the process, and had blood gushing forth from his broken scalp. (Since we had no gauze or water, someone offered a hat for him to wipe on... and then his friends pulled out their cameras and started filming, because really, what else is there to do in that situation?) Unfortunately, all that heroism was for naught. "Why did we just pass Porter?" we all asked in unison, and realized that we had hurried onto the wrong train. So all seven got out again. Someone tried to by a cold drink for the injured boy, but the vending machine was out. The trains were not coming frequently. Jax got a headache. And oh yeah, Old Ham realized that she had left her birthday presents back at the restaurant.

Luckily, the Lord had mercy on us. And that was all the damage that was done. But broken scalp, missed train, lost people, headache, and misplaced presents... that was enough for fifteen minutes. In a little while, another train came by and there we were, back on the train, back at Harvard, back at the restaurant, fetching presents and to undo the catastrophes of that fateful quarter hour.