To celebrate the end of my third full week on the island, I left it. I decided I would go over to Falmouth (on the mythical "mainland") to do some shopping and see some movies. Imagine finding actual sales on items I need, or theaters that play something other than "The Hangover," "Year One," and "Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen." And it was all just a ferry ride away.
Ah, but the things in life that sound so simple often turn out to be trickier than you expect, and that was certainly the case with my little Friday getaway.
The complications began even before I got on the boat in Oak Bluffs. Because I didn't know how long I'd be gone, I knew I should find a 24-hour parking space, just to be one the safe side. The nearest one turned out to be almost a mile away from the Steamship Authority office, where you buy the ferry tickets and go on board. I'd left early to catch the 10:45 ferry, but finding the parking space took much longer than I would have expected and by the time I parked, it was 10:35. So you can picture how quickly I had to hustle down the sidewalk. I bought my ticket ($7.50 for one-way) and was the very last passenger admitted. The ticket-taker at the gate had to radio down to the ferry crew: "Last passenger. Running. Green striped shirt. Blue hat." They were waiting as I hurried down the slanted wooden planks of the passageway and onto the boarding ramp. I was out of breath as I handed my ticket stub to the guard. "You don't have to hurry anymore," the woman assured me. "You made it."
But you never really leave the island if you bring along your iPod: Only minutes after I walked to an upper deck to get some coffee, the voice of Carly Simon, one of the Vineyard's most notable residents, was purring in my earbuds, singing about "anticipa-a-tion." Soon afterward, "He Lives in You" from "The Lion King" turned up in the shuffle mix, which made me think of taking my niece Rachael to the Wharton Center in East Lansing to see the show three months ago as a birthday present. It was hard not to feel a little sad at the memory, since it made me realize once again how far away everyone is now.
The Vineyard Fast Ferries, as they are known, are anything but floating cattle cars. They're actually extremely comfortable, well-equipped and spacious boats, with hundreds of chairs, dozens of restaurant-style booths, outdoor seating (for those who can stand the strong breeze) and a cafeteria that serves everything from tea and beer to clam chowder and hot dogs at fairly reasonable prices. They're equipped with wi-fi, so you can spend the 45-minute voyage surfing the Web while you're riding the waves. There are also large flat-screen TVs everywhere, although on this particular day they all seemed to be tuned to CNN, which had temporarily become the MJN (Michael Jackson Network) and was providing such gripping content as searing interviews with Michael Jackson impersonators -- this is what now constitutes "news" in America -- and tear-stained testimonials to Jackson's brilliance from Liza Minnelli and Regis Philbin. No wonder most people were finding other ways to occupy their time.
When we arrived at Woods Hole, I disembarked and found the "Whoosh" Trolley, which carries passengers north to Falmouth. My plan was to ride to the end of the line, Falmouth Mall, do some shopping, and then take a cab to the Regal Nickelodeon Theaters in North Falmouth; according to an online mapping site, it was a short ride.
I had no problem catching the trolley. Enjoying the ride was another matter. The Whoosh looks sweetly quaint when you get on board, like a conveyance of 100 years ago, with brass poles, green and gold paint and bench-like wooden seats. With no padding or cushioning whatsoever on those seats, however, you are guaranteed to feel every bump and pothole on the way to your destination. I was reminded of the similarly cute-looking train that takes you around the Detroit Zoo; it has flat wooden seats as well, and if you ride for more than a few minutes you begin to feel as if you're being paddled. I was grateful my Whoosh trip whooshed by in about 15 minutes, before bruises and blisters had time to form.
The Falmouth Mall turned out to be a mall in name only. It's essentially a supermarket, a WalMart, an exercise studio, a hardware store, a tobacconist's shop and not much else, so my hopes of a real shopping trip quickly came crashing down around me. I haven't shopped at WalMart since I read Barbara Ehrenreich's expose "Nickel and Dimed" several years ago, in which she went undercover as a WalMart worker to show how callously the company treats its employees. I was so disgusted by her revelations that I cut up and threw away my Sam's Club card, which had gotten a lot of exercise in earlier years.
But it's not only WalMart where you get "nickel and dimed," as I found out when I went to the supermarket to use a cash machine. I inserted my card, punched in my PIN and then received a cherry little message that the bank providing the machine would charge me $2.75 for this transaction. I immediately hit "cancel" and collected my card. Unfortunately, I did need cash; equally unfortunately, that was the only bank machine I saw in my vicinity.
So I swallowed my high ideals, gritted my teeth and strolled into WalMart, where I bought two pens for $2 with my debit card, which then allowed me to take an additional $60 back in cash. Forgive me, Ms. Ehrenreich -- and that wasn't even the worst thing I did that day.
Looking at the clock, I realized I'd better find a taxi to the theater if I wanted to catch a double-feature (I was planning to see "Tyson," because I've heard it's terrific, and "My Sister's Keeper," because I like Cameron Diaz and Abigail Breslin and I hadn't seen a good tearjerker in ages). Getting the cab was a snap, and the driver turned out to be a delightful woman in her 50s who was eager to discuss all the movies she had wanted to see (and missed) in theaters during the last six months: "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button," "The Reader" and "that one with the comeback guy," which I correctly guessed was Mickey Rourke's "The Wrestler." She also wanted details on "The Hangover" and "Up," and I assured her she'd probably have a great time at both.
Although the conversation was lively enough, I still found it peculiar that it seemed to be taking much longer to get to the theater than my trusty little downloaded map seemed to indicate. There was a reason for that. The site that provided me with the information had screwed up the address of the theater. It was not just around the corner, it was a good six miles away, and by the time we pulled into the parking lot of the Nickelodeon, the fare was up to -- cringe -- $23.
But what can you do in such a situation? as the British say, "In for a penny, in for a pound." Or, in this particular case, about 15 pounds or thereabouts.
More to follow...
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