It’s tourist season in Boston, and with the heat ebbed, they’re actually leaving their hotels and taunting office workers with their shorts and tank tops. Every cities’ tourists look the same. It’s like there’s a country called Tourisma, and all the Tourists wear clean comfortable clothes, talk loudly, possess no sense of direction, and plump with age.
Southerners are common visitors to Boston. To escape oppressive summer climates, they study a US map and pick the northern-most city with a hub airport. We also attract Holy types who want to be scandalized by liberal hedonism: Boozy Catholics, drinking whiskey on their way to mass. Gay people, running around with wedding rings. Kennedys.
South Station, Red Line, 4:45pm: Descending the stairs to the platform, I could hear a Red Line train arriving. My sprint-instinct kicked in, but blocking my way was a slow-moving couple who took each step at their leisure. I conceded the missed train and wound up sitting next to them on a bench. They were in their early 60s. He was at least 6’5″ with a respectable heft beneath his jeans and stitched buttoned-down shirt, and a white Stetson hat above his jowled, mustachioed face. She had ridiculous hair, streaked blond, teased and held high on her head by a motionless ponytail. Her heels were too high, jeans too tight, and butt too big to allow for natural movement. When the train came, she rose with a squeak.
The doors opened and they rushed the near-empty train, shoving past a young Indian man who sought to egress. They took three seats to accommodate their respective thigh girth. So exotic and foreign, I couldn’t keep from covertly staring. With drawls lazier than a cud-chewing cow, they discussed whether to take a cab or the subway to a restaurant that night. “A taxi would be easier,” she kept saying.
“This is fine. What’s hard about this?” He smiled and flirted like a man who spent the afternoon drinking bourbon.
“It’s just… I want to relax. I’m on vacation. I don’t like all this… public transportation.” Her face, slightly mummified with age and make-up, scrunched up into a sob, and she cried “You said if we didn’t rent a car, we’d take taxis. And we’ve only taken one god-forsaken taxi since we’ve got here!”
“We got here this morning!” he protested, laughing, obviously finding her public discomfiture to be adorable. I found it to be pretty cute myself. Sometimes, Tourists can be a fun reminder that places like Tourisma exist.
