Click here for Part 1 of this story.

After finally getting to the Boston area, I started to consult at my printed directions. Yes, I’m still one of those people who use printed directions.

All was fine until my exit on Rt 1 was cut short because the Tobin Bridge I was set to use, didn’t allow cash at all. You HAD to use either EZ Pass or a new thing called Pay By Plate. I have no idea if this was a new thing or not, or if I’d even cross with money because it was new, so I decided I’d take the last exit before and find my way there.

This is when I began to use my phone’s GPS-enabled directions. What a fucking mistake.

My phone had a hard time to read where I was for a minute. After calibrating, I then proceeded on my way. I began my journey in Chelsea (CHELSEA!).

The GPS was telling me to essentially go around in circles at first, then when I decided to veer off course, it seemed to make sense again.

Until it instructed me to go up a one-way in the wrong direction.

After crossing one bridge, I was dangerously close to where I needed to be, I saw a familiar sign. But I got stuck in the wrong lane. And had to turn into another street.

After getting lost for more than an hour, being instructed to go through more one-ways, I ended up coming to a small park.

This park had a nice walkway in front of it overlooking the river. At the end of the walkway were large cement pillars to prevent people from driving over it.

Well, the GPS told me to drive over that park as if it was a street. I kid you not.

When I got to the parking garage, I parked and emptied my pockets of unwanted clutter. I second-guessed bringing the extra ticket. I took it with me, along with money, my debit card, my license, and my sound recorder.

I had to run to make the concert on time. The ticket said it started at 7, but you and I both know they never start when they say they do.

What I didn’t know is that the House of Blues in Boston is directly near Fenway Park. There were hundreds of people swarming the place. I am not a fan of baseball, and I have plenty enough Red Sox fans in Maine to deal with, so this was an unwanted obstacle.

The line inside the venue was split. Line 1 was for people who had tickets for the first floor.

Line 2 was for people on the second and third floors. Since I had an upper mezzanine ticket, I waited in the latter line.

The line bent up a ramp, where just before it, security guards checked your pockets. At the front of the line, a girl’s ticket wasn’t scanning. It was holding up the line and it looked like she wasn’t going to be getting in.

The man at the door suggested that she go to the box office and try to sort this out.

This was the moment I had been waiting for. I offered up my ticket to her, since I was parallel to her in my part of the line. She was gracious and she went on her way. As the security guards grew closer, I realized that I HAD MY SOUND RECORDER on me! 

Shit, now I’d have to either give them my recorder until the show’s over, or I can’t go inside at all. And even if I ran back to the garage, there was no re-entry, so I’d have to park somewhere else.

As I approached the security guard, I held all of my items in hand as he patted me down. He then asked what it was. I said, “A sound recorder,” fully expecting to be turned around.

He said, “okay.” And that was it. Whew.

As I got upstairs, the ladies watching the crowds (who work there) instructed me that I cannot sit in any seat, and that I must stay behind the surrounding railings. It didn’t matter to me, because I’ve been needing to go to the bathroom since I got in Massachusetts almost two hours prior.

I head to the head, and release. As I’m sitting there I’m thinking, “Wait a minute, this girl will be in the same section I’m in.”

I immediately head to the bar. I wasn’t going to drink because I’m going to have to drive back later, but after the shitstorm of wrong turns and wasting my gas and time, I didn’t give one shit. I bought an $8 Stella Artois. And I loved it.

I stood behind the railings as instructed sipping on my beer and checking out the venue.

House of Blues Boston is gorgeous. It’s one of the best venues at which I have ever been.

I look below me at the seating, and sure enough, directly under me is the girl to which I gave my ticket.

“Fuck it.” I headed down to the seating area and introduced myself. She was cool, her name was Grace and she too was from Maine. Crazy small world this is.

Anyways, we hung out the entire show and chatted up about life, school, and Little Dragon.

The show… was so worth the stress of getting there. 

Do yourselves a favor and listen to Little Dragon. If you like them, then go see them live. There are some of the best performers I’ve ever seen.

After the show, I walked Grace down the street (in the opposite direction in which I came) and we said goodbye.

Then I noticed the time. 11:41. My parking pass was only good until 12:10. I needed to hurry the fuck up.

So I ran. I also got lost… again. I ran so hard my chest hurt.

But I made it. With ten minutes to spare.

I drove home, getting lost once again. My phone’s battery somehow managed to last as I needed it as a last-ditch failsafe in case I couldn’t make it home.

Lucky for me, I just followed East and North Interstate signs.

I stopped in the first Service Plaza in Kennebunk for some food at around 1:30. I hadn’t eaten a proper meal since 2pm the previous day.

After that I sat in my car and debated sleeping for a bit. I didn’t feel so tired, so I drove until the next Service Plaza in Gray.

It was here that I fell asleep. I was out from 3am to 6am. Then I drove home, only stopping in Newport for some Tim Horton’s. Screw your Dunkin Donuts and Boston Red Sox. 😉

Then I got home and slept until 12:30. That’s all really.

But the real question is, would I do it again?

You’re damn right I would, only now I know my way around a bit more.

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Keep up with Jamie and his wandering mind by following him on Twitter @TheGuyOnAWire

-Jamie