The Boston Diaries

The ongoing saga of a programmer who doesn't live in Boston, nor does he even like Boston, but yet named his weblog/journal “The Boston Diaries.”

Go figure.

Wednesday, July 01, 2015


Hello from overcast a slightly drizzly Brevard, North Carolina!

We left Chez Boca at the ungodly hour of 7 AM. I drove for a few hours to let Bunny get some more sleep (me? I stayed up, deciding to “go to bed” a bit later than usual). At Ft. Pierce, switched places so I could get more sleep. We also encountered two bus loads (touring, not school) of middle school kids terrorizing the local establishments and causing long lines.

And wouldn't you know, the middle school kids were from Boca Raton. What are the odds?

There went an hour.

We switched again at a gas station just off the Grover, South Carolina I-95 exit. Here, the issue wasn't a ton of school kids from Boca Raton terrorizing the place, but being the only working gas station associated with an international brand for probably fifty miles in any direction. So there was the wait.

Waiting …

Waiting …

Oh so waiting …

Oh! An empty gas pump! Score!

No, I do not have a preferred customer card. Press “No” and wait.


Oh, now I can insert my plastic card o' money. Select “debit.”

Select “debit.”

Select “debit.”

Ah, now type my PIN.

Try to type my PIN.

Try to type my PIN.

Try to hit “cancel.”

Hit “cancel.”

Slam my body into the “cancel” button.

Okay, let me try this again, only this time, skip answering “No” to the preferred customer card. Now answer “credit” and try to enter the ZIP code.

Try to enter the ZIP code.

Try to enter the ZIP code.

Skip trying to hit the “cancel” button and go straight for the body slam.

Then try all those steps three more times, proving that I am, in fact, insane.

Walk inside the store and inform the clerk of the troubles I've seen.

The clerk walks out, I hand over my plastic card o' money and watch as the insanity spreads.

After realizing the insanity of the situation, the clerk has determined the pump must be broken and to try another pump.

It sounded insane, but switching to another pump worked.

And another hour just flew by.

The only other incident on the ride up to Brevard—we hit Columbia, South Carolina during rush hour.

There went another hour.

Twelve hours after we left Chez Boca, we arrived at destination. Just as the All-Knowing All-Seeing Google predicted.

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[The future's so bright, I gotta wear shades]

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