The Eurail Diaries
Screw the Damn Tithings
Jacob M. Szymanski
Its 6pm on the corner of Eastlake Ave and Lynn St at the ultra modern and overly designed Vox Café on Capital Hill, Seattle. Why I am here, I don’t know. I leave for Europe in only one month. I have spent an effortless four hundred dollars on clothes and food in the last three days and I have only a few designer labels to show for it (this lifestyle is not my norm and only for today…only until Saturday…today is Wednesday).
So, as I sit in my contemporary but some how astonishingly uncomfortable chair at this Café and I’m asking myself; what would move some one to leave an address where car insurance, gas, house, and phone bills have a monthly balance of…zero. Anyone in their right mind would ask me where such a glorious and oh so dubious place exists. This home is no delusion, it’s not life after death or even a man’s wet dream (ha-ha…the playboy mansion maybe?). It’s no other than my parent’s house.
Say it was the playboy mansion. I would…well, I guess that’s a whole different story. Nevertheless, in my reality I have looked for ways to abandon all of which I am naturally suppose to conform to. Naturally I would willingly receive the three kings tithing of gold frankinsence and murr but some in habitual force of mine would screw the damn tithings only to make them for myself. I’m sincerely hoping that made some sort of practical sense as that was my most unusually atypical analogy I have made yet. Hence, my strive for something original.
How ironic, after years of forcing myself to conform to the rest of society I’m desperately trying to escape precisely that.
(Before I continue let me address this chapter’s consistent self venting. The last hope I have for this diary is it to become a diary. Believe me; my diary wouldn’t include such nice flowy words.)
Anyway, with less than a month before I span across the globe, I find my self scraping together necessary details that should have been finalized months ago. Ha-ha, I kicked myself for this one; so I purchased this open ended ticket deal six months ago right. Just the other day did I ask myself where my confirmation was. I called, gave them a ridiculously ludicrous sum of money and for six months I have understood this ticket to be somewhere floating in cyber space next to some other unassuming e-tickets. Well, it was, it was sitting next to seat E33 the whole time. What happened to the days when you paid for your ticket and some time later you received a slip that said “TICKET”. Oh well, it’s the motorized PC world we live in today. Just an observation.
Expect some additional observations I have regarding or airport transit systems around August 5th as I get real up close and personal with the nice people who make me take off my shoes and seize my charming little travel shampoos because I’m going destroy a plane with them.
Patiently awaiting some brilliant British sarcasm and some witty French attitude,
Jacob M. Szymanski
Screw the Damn Tithings
Jacob M. Szymanski
Its 6pm on the corner of Eastlake Ave and Lynn St at the ultra modern and overly designed Vox Café on Capital Hill, Seattle. Why I am here, I don’t know. I leave for Europe in only one month. I have spent an effortless four hundred dollars on clothes and food in the last three days and I have only a few designer labels to show for it (this lifestyle is not my norm and only for today…only until Saturday…today is Wednesday).
So, as I sit in my contemporary but some how astonishingly uncomfortable chair at this Café and I’m asking myself; what would move some one to leave an address where car insurance, gas, house, and phone bills have a monthly balance of…zero. Anyone in their right mind would ask me where such a glorious and oh so dubious place exists. This home is no delusion, it’s not life after death or even a man’s wet dream (ha-ha…the playboy mansion maybe?). It’s no other than my parent’s house.
Say it was the playboy mansion. I would…well, I guess that’s a whole different story. Nevertheless, in my reality I have looked for ways to abandon all of which I am naturally suppose to conform to. Naturally I would willingly receive the three kings tithing of gold frankinsence and murr but some in habitual force of mine would screw the damn tithings only to make them for myself. I’m sincerely hoping that made some sort of practical sense as that was my most unusually atypical analogy I have made yet. Hence, my strive for something original.
How ironic, after years of forcing myself to conform to the rest of society I’m desperately trying to escape precisely that.
(Before I continue let me address this chapter’s consistent self venting. The last hope I have for this diary is it to become a diary. Believe me; my diary wouldn’t include such nice flowy words.)
Anyway, with less than a month before I span across the globe, I find my self scraping together necessary details that should have been finalized months ago. Ha-ha, I kicked myself for this one; so I purchased this open ended ticket deal six months ago right. Just the other day did I ask myself where my confirmation was. I called, gave them a ridiculously ludicrous sum of money and for six months I have understood this ticket to be somewhere floating in cyber space next to some other unassuming e-tickets. Well, it was, it was sitting next to seat E33 the whole time. What happened to the days when you paid for your ticket and some time later you received a slip that said “TICKET”. Oh well, it’s the motorized PC world we live in today. Just an observation.
Expect some additional observations I have regarding or airport transit systems around August 5th as I get real up close and personal with the nice people who make me take off my shoes and seize my charming little travel shampoos because I’m going destroy a plane with them.
Patiently awaiting some brilliant British sarcasm and some witty French attitude,
Jacob M. Szymanski
