Is it the "whip appeal," or my Babyface?

While waiting for the state police to show up on Tuesday, I read the first half of Travels With Charley by John Steinbeck. I attempted to read it one year in college, but didn’t like it much at the time. This time around I’m finding a lot more to like about it. This passage at the beginning of Section One struck me as particularly relevant.

“In this a journey is like a marriage. The certain way to be wrong is to think you control it. I feel better now, having said this, although only those who have experienced it will understand it.”

I woke up at 5 a.m. on Tuesday, in the back of my van, in a parking lot of a McDonald’s on the side of 95S in Connecticut. I didn’t sleep well, but not because the van was uncomfortable. After I figured out that I had to sleep with my head rather than my feet elevated (I woke up in the middle of the night with a stuffy nose and swollen throat), I was quite cozy. The constant sounds of shutting doors, footsteps, and the shadows of men lurking near the van, however, made my sleep rather erratic and fitful. I had anticipated this. Rest stops aren’t known for their safety or privacy late at night. But I really wanted to try it out on the first night, just in case there are other nights along this trip when it’s my only option. I really hope I don’t have to resort to this, though, and have since reserved tent sites for the entire length of the east coast.

For breakfast, I lived every ten-year old’s dream and had Chef Boyardee Ravioli with a side of cookies. After rearranging the back of my van and cleaning myself up a little in the bathroom, I headed for New Haven. I arrived in downtown New Haven a half hour later and was suddenly overcome with a sinking feeling. I knew I’d forgotten something. I turned my head to look over the back of the van and realized what it was. My computer bag was missing. I turned the van around and headed back to the rest area. As I drove, I reconstructed the events of the night in my head. After using my computer inside the McDonald’s, I walked outside at around 10:30 p.m. I opened the back door to the van and placed my computer on the pavement. I moved all the boxes over to make room for me to sleep, shut the door, and never picked the computer off the ground. I’m a very absent-minded person, but this was a dumb move, even for me. On the bright side, I'd backed up the entire hard drive the day before, so I knew I didn't lose any important information.

When I got back to the rest stop, I went into the McDonald’s and gas station to ask if anyone had turned in a computer. No one had. I called the state police and told them everything that had happened. The operator said he’d send someone over to talk to me. They would call when someone arrived.

I went inside to call all my credit card and bank people. I cancelled all the cards just to be safe and called my dad to change all my internet passwords. And then I started reading Steinbeck, where the first few pages made me feel better to some extent.

After waiting three or four hours for the police, I left and drove to New Haven. They never called, so I assume they never showed up. I don’t know why they had to meet me in person anyway. It wasn’t a very important crime (I practically thrust the computer upon the thief) and I gave the police all the description they’d need over the phone.

I talked to my sister on the ride, on my Bluetooth, since hand-held phones are illegal while driving in Connecticut. I asked her if she was surprised and she said no, not at all. In fact, she expected something like this to happen. I am, after all, the person who had to sift through the kitchen trash every couple weeks while I was in high school, every time my parents found a paper plate in the sink. A paper plate in the sink indicated that I’d mixed up my hands again—the silverware had been thrown into the trash and the paper plate had been thrown into the sink.

A few of my friends called to check in on me and I told them the news. They all laughed, with good reason, but they also expressed their concern and pity. A friend who was working at the farm where I’ve worked for years told our boss. Without my knowing, he set up a Trasky fund to help me pay for a new computer—embarrassing, but nice.

My dad and I discussed getting a new computer. There’s no way I can do this trip without one. While we discussed the bare minimum features I’d be needing, I got word from the supervisor at my previous job in Boston (they’d heard about my dilemma from my sister) that the company was going to give me one of their old laptops.

When I called to inform my friend at the farm she told me about the Trasky fund. I told her there was no need to collect any more money. With the 40 dollars they’d collected, they bought me a pair of new jeans that they gave to me yesterday. Apparently they were horrified when they read in one of my previous blogs that I had only one pair with me.

My mother’s cousin and his wife, who’ve been battling Glioblastoma Mulitiforme since he was diagnosed in ~2004, called to say they’d take me out to dinner after the reading. They also felt sorry for me. I had been planning on staying at their house for the night but decided I had to go back to Brockton a day early to begin taking care of the mess I’d gotten myself into.

After successfully getting DMR into Labyrinth Books near Yale, and taking pictures all over New Haven, I took a nap in the sun, on the green in front of the library. When I woke up in the shade of a tree that was now blocking the sun, I saw a man who looked to be about forty years old bent over, clutching at his chest. I got up and jogged over to ask if he was ok. He slowly stood up and said that he was ok. Then he said, “I have a couple slipped discs or something and I have to stop whatever I’m doing once in a while. But thanks for asking, most people don’t give a shit.”

All I said was, “Yeah, I know.” And before the words were even out of my mouth I regretted not speaking up and correcting him.

The reading at the New Haven library went well. The audience was both encouraging and insightful.

After having dinner, I drove back to Brockton.

Last night I went to Dave Daniel’s reading at the Weymouth Public Library for Reunion, his latest novel. The audience really enjoyed the reading and he ran out of books to sell.

I’ll be in Brockton until Saturday when I’ll leave very early in the morning and head to Pennsylvania. I have to wait for a few replacement cables to be delivered on Friday.