Bubble Wrapped

On the road again...

Hopped a train last night to Annapolis, a train delayed by the conductor making repeated announcements that no dogs were allowed on Amtrack.

This seemed a tad strange to me since there was a woman two rows in front of me with a small white dog who was reacting not at all to the warnings that any dog carrier would be put off the train.

When two Amtrack employees showed up, she gave them what for, informing them that she was a pain therapist and that her dog was her assistant, helping people relax as she treated them.

I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried.

Bottom line: they got to stay while I went back to reading the three days' worth of Washington Posts I was behind on after my Labor Day sojourn.

 Traveling on the train at night, especially on the Quiet Car, was decidedly different from all my recent day trips where passing scenery and weather competed with my read-a-thon to pass the hours north.

Arriving at 10:30, my friend took me directly to Gordon Biersch brewery, promising, "This'll be your least favorite part of your week."

Not so, I told her, surprising her with the fact that I'd just been to Lickinghole brewery Monday.

Besides, train riding works up an appetite so fish tacos and two kinds of sliders were just the thing along about midnight.

After a full day helping her get ready to move -packing and unpacking boxes- she suggested a couple of restaurants and I countered with river-side crabs.

She amiably agreed with the stipulation that we eat inside, which lasted until we arrived and I suggested we eat outside.

It had turned out to be an unexpectedly pleasant evening, damp enough that I needed the wrap I'd borrowed from her almost immediately, so she agreed to eat al fresco.

With Herradura and hush puppies in front of me, it was just a matter of time until the large crabs arrived, making me a happy camper.

Not so my friend, who was facing a nearby table where a child was watching a movie with the sound loud enough to be heard at our table.

Soon after, the table behind us began smoking and I saw her begin to lose it.

Even the arrival of the crabs didn't help, but I knew what would.

With the skill of a pro, I suggested some Herradura STAT and by the second one, she began to relax.

It didn't hurt that the smokers and the TV family paid their bills and left, but a lot of credit goes to the tequila.

As anyone who picks crabs knows, bits go flying in the feeding frenzy and at one point, some landed in her drink.

"There's shell in my tequila!" she squealed.

 So? I asked, prompting her to wonder if anything ever really gets to me.

She said she had dozens of things that set her off.

Let me think about it for a while and I'll let you know, I told her.

Still thinking.