Yet I still had one more goal to accomplish before I went back home. If I didn't do it today, who knows when I would ever be able to do it since I can't do it in Florida. Or, probably anywhere else on Earth.
Of course I'm talking about weenies.
Weenies were one of the major reasons I came in the first place. The succulent, steamy bun, the juicy somewhat-smoky flavored wiener. The tangy mustard, the tart yet cool onions and the salty celery salt. (I mean what other adjective describes celery salt but salty?) Oh, and of course, the mysterious aromatic sweet and savory meat sauce. I had to get me some!
I was on a mission.
Having missed my opportunity to get them Friday when I had the rental car I was now limited by several enemy obstacles that I had to defeat in order to carry out my mission successfully:
1. The rain. It was pouring when I first woke up and stayed steady throughout my short hotel shuttle ride to the airport.
2. I had to use the public bus. Would it be on time? Was there a stop near the weenie place? Would there be a return bus in time before my flight?
3. I was almost out of cash. I had spent through the $200 in cash I brought with me and was down to just a twenty, and (I thought) three singles. Of course I could use an ATM but I try to avoid stupid fees. And these buses didn't take cards.
4. I had to lug around my luggage. Only one carry-on, but it was very tightly packed and must have weighed fifty pounds. I asked the young lady at the information desk in the airport terminal if there were any lockers for rent. She looked at me like I was crazy and politely said no. Lockers at airports are, no doubt, a relic of a pre-9/11 era, I guess.
I had to make my assault quickly since, by my timetable on my Kindle, I saw the bus would be arriving any minute. I made my way out to the bus stop and stayed back from it a ways as it was rudely out in the rain and unsheltered.
A lady who seemed like one of those special people who spend all day just riding the public buses and know all the routes told me the 14 was coming. I told her I was waiting for the 20. She made no comment. It looked like she may have wanted to say something like: "Why don't you want the 14?"
I reached in my pocket, pulled out my wallet in order to get my dollars ready and lo and behold, I only had the twenty and a single one! Shit, that's right, I used two of the ones I had reserved for the bus on the soda vending machine at the hotel. Doh! I thought I might have had some quarters in my luggage but I wasn't going to open it here outside. My bag was packed so tight, it'd pop like a Pillsbury Biscuit tube.
I rushed back into the terminal and made my way to the nearest concession...a Starbucks. I don't have good experiences with Starbucks. Like the fake TV ad on SNL that spoofs them, I really do find their unique blend of pretentiousness and incompetence irritating. Sure enough, this kiosk was busy and had only one very slow barista. It took an eternity for me to get to the counter and rather than ask foolishly if she would simply break a twenty for me (I knew they wouldn't be able to...sorry, policy) I just grabbed the least expensive item available, a small packet of cashews.
"Just this," I said, yet still, she just had to ask...
"Nothing to drink?"
Um, if I wanted something to drink, I think I would have told you so and NOT said "JUST THIS!" - I thought silently to myself. I handed her my $20 bill and asked her if I could also get five ones in change.
She said, "You actually get three ones since the change is $17.15." She held up three fives and three ones while extracting the coins from the till. UGH! Is it me?
"Yes, but I'd like you to break one of the fives for ones, please." She rolled her eyes like I was being unreasonable and after a flicker of confusion she was able to give me my change the way I needed it.
I got back to the bus stop but of course there was no bus. The retarded lady was still there though, staring at me.
"The 20 came by and left already, huh?" I asked rhetorically. She nodded yes. I didn't bother to ask why she hadn't gotten on the 14 since I realized she isn't taking the bus. She's there to tell people what bus is coming. It's her self-appointed pointless job.
I went back inside since while there were benches outside they were, of course, wet. I waited for the next bus coming in 30 minutes. I was tired, it looked like the rain was relentless and I was anxious to get home. I didn't want any complications to returning back to the airport and if, for some reason I couldn't catch a return bus, I didn't have enough cash for a cab. It looked like the cabs in Rhode Island didn't take plastic either.
"Should I give it up?" I thought. They're only hot dogs, when it comes right down to it and they are fattening. I should just have lunch here at one of the many restaurants in the airport. But then I thought of those weenies. Oh their moist, softness... Their savory deliciousness... I had to go on!
The next bus came on time and I sat near the front so I could watch to see when the place was coming up. I had only seen it in passing when I had the car. I'd stopped at the package store next door where the clerk said I looked like a younger Jimmy Page from Led Zepplin. I'd heard this before.
Luckily, the stop was right across the street. Also, the rain had stopped too. Yes, the mission was underway and we were proceeding successfully to our target!
A group of customers had just left so I had the place to myself. Didn't really matter since I was getting them to go. I didn't want to risk missing the return bus back to the airport. I ordered up six with the works and told the guy my story. That I dreamed about weenies. That they weren't available in Florida. He chuckled and said he hears that a lot. I could smell them as he was laying them out across his arm, in the traditional preparation method, slathering on those luscious toppings.
I was this close to my prime objective when the female co-worker (probably co-owner wife the way these little places are) tallied my tab at the cash register.
"That'll be $12.80," she said cheerfully. I reached for my wallet and suddenly it hit me. I quickly looked around at the tiny restaurant in a working class neighborhood. I glanced at the cash register and check out area. No VISA or Mastercard stickers. Shit! They don't take plastic!
I asked and she confirmed it. Cash only. I broke out in a cold sweat, not remembering how much I had left after the Starbucks nuts and the bus fare. Plus, I needed to leave at least $2 for the bus back! Whew! I sighed, relieved, when I saw I had enough. But just barely. I was down to just three singles and some change.
As I walked the short distance to the bus stop, I kept a wide grin on my face, smelling my just rewards from inside the grease-spotted paper sack. I got back to the airport, found a secluded spot and savored two of my babies with utter joy. They were as good as I'd remembered. Ahhh! I left the other four since they were, I'd forgotten, really filling.
I got a plastic Ziploc baggie for them from the information desk. They give them out free since Providence is gung-ho about enforcing the bullshit TSA security rule regarding traveling with gels and liquids. I hoped putting them in my luggage would not cause any problems. I mean, I wasn't exporting them to another country. Just to Florida.
And in Florida, several hours later I enjoyed the remaining four. Not as good re-heated in a microwave, I found out, but still, I wasn't complaining. I had liberated my weenies!
