Suckerpunched by the B Line.

The good news: I started a new job this week! I can now say I work for an organization that I believe in. Today was my third day.

The bad news: It's on Comm Ave., just before Packard's Corner. I live in Roslindale. There are basically two ways to get from Roslindale to Allston. As the crow flies, they are maybe 15 minutes away from each other. On the T, it can range anywhere between 45 minutes to three hours. These feature three (3) of my four (4) least favorite modes of transportation on the MBTA.*

Option A: Take the bus from Roslindale Square to Forest Hills. Take the Orange Line to Copley (or Downtown Crossing, Haymarket, or North Station), and transfer to the B line (1). Take that to Babcock St.
Option B: Take the bus from Roslindale Square to Forest Hills. Take the #39 bus (2) to the Mission Kill section of Mission Hill. Wait under the bridge until the #66 bus (3) comes. Take that to The Very Worst Part of Allston,** and walk 10 minutes in the stifling heat to Babcock St.

As much as the B line tops the list, I decided to take it. After all, it's only slow because it stops every block, right? It still runs more than any other green line train. Right? WRONG.
Day 1 (Tuesday): I was pissed because I was waiting at Park St and it felt like the center of the earth. NO TRAINS CAME FOR 20 MINUTES. Then when they did come, they were the D and E before the B.
Day 2 (yesterday): At BU Central, they decided the train would go non-stop to Harvard Ave. Because we were on BU campus, the ground was covered in the previous night's vomit, and the smell wafted up to all the people crowded on the ghetto platform.
Day 3 (today): Copley station felt like the center of the earth, only this time there were no fans. Trains came as follows: D, C, E, E, D, B. When we got to Kenmore, everyone had to get off the train because nobody really wanted to go direct to Harvard Ave. at 6AM. I actually shed a few tears.

*The other being the #1 bus.
**And I hate all parts of Allston.

Oh, so THIS is what it means to be a waitress.

The bar/restaurant that I work for just started making the night I work karaoke night. Of all the people that work there, I am the only one who had something nice to say about it. That's putting it lightly. I was ecstatic. What greater excuse is there to go to karaoke every week? How cool is it to be the hidden talent of the waitstaff? How much more likely is it that I can drag people to visit me at work?

The guy was taking song requests, too, for when nobody else wanted to sing. I asked him to play "Hello Mary Lou" by Ricky Nelson, and I think he didn't know whether to shit or go blind. And, in his book, he had my signature karaoke song: "Hey Jealousy" by the Gin Blossoms. My kickball bar and my regular karaoke bar don't, so this was thrilling.

By the end of the night...
I made more money than I did during the NBA playoffs.
My boss kissed me. Twice.*
A customer asked me to be in his band.**

All this time I've been sitting at the hostess desk, eating nachos and reading books. THIS is what waitressing, as I always imagined it, anyway, is all about!

* I could do without this.
** Pretty cool, actually. As his band is not of the Gin Blossoms cover variety, I think he will soon see that he doesn't want me in his band.