Last weekend was very comedic. Thursday and Friday I performed at comedy open mikes, and on Saturday I was scheduled for a dinner show but the joke was on me, because April is tax season.
You may wonder how tax season would affect my comedy performance. Well, not all taxes are paid to the government. (In fact, for Obama's cabinet picks, no taxes are paid to the government.) I have a special tax that I pay directly to the universe called the "No-Car Tax."
The No-Car Tax covers all the ways in which I have to pay for not having a car. This includes paying money for busses, but also includes things like arriving hours early for events, waiting for people who never show up and missing parties.
I used to get upset when that would happen, but when you don't have your own car, you really have no right to complain when your plans don't work out. I have come to accept this, and whenever disaster strikes, I simply smile and say, "Well, that's the No-Car Tax."
It should be noted that I am saving lives every day by not driving. The last few times I drove, I accidentally backed out into traffic, ran through a red light with perpendicular traffic in motion and stopped on an exit ramp with an 18-wheeler behind me. Frankly, I am such a menace to myself behind the wheel that I am probably safer under one.
Anyway, this past Saturday I was booked for a show with my improv troupe. One of the members was driving in from Cheshire and suggested I take the bus to
The bus stop on Main Street has a helpful printed guide to tell you how much your trip will cost, such as $3.30 from North Adams to Cheshire. However, upon getting on the bus and putting in my $3.30, I learned that the bus stop needs updating because the fare is $3.75. Naturally, I had insufficient remaining change, no remaining singles, and nobody on the bus who could change a large bill. Thankfully, a fellow rider graciously donated a few cents, and we were on our way.
Interestingly, there is no real bus stop in Cheshire. My friend had told me to get dropped off at the Farnum causeway, a location with which I was unfamiliar but which would surely be known by the bus driver. I explained my plight, the driver let me off at the causeway, and off he went.
I had not realized the causeway did not have any cover, but as I stood on the roadside being cold and multi-directionally rained upon (both from the sky and the wind off the lake), I reflected on how glad I was that I had worn my raincoat and that my ride would be along in only five minutes.
Half an hour later, somewhat colder and wetter, I was forced to admit that my ride was unlikely to show up. I ducked into a nearby restaurant to call a cab.
The North Adams cab company was unfamiliar with my destination, and the Pittsfield cab company said they couldn't get there for 90 minutes, by which point I would have missed my show. There was only one option left.
Hitchhiking looks so easy on television. You just stick out your thumb, someone pulls over and off you go. It's possible that I should have had the foresight to be prettier, because my thumb got very, very cold. After a while, it occurred to me that I should start walking toward Pittsfield in defeat. Still, I kept my thumb out, and eventually a kind gentleman from Dalton pulled over and gave me a ride to Allendale.
There, the Gamestop staff helped me find my destination, which I learned was only an hour's walk away. I set out walking at a brisk pace, and 15 minutes later, my friend pulled up to say she'd waited at the causeway for half an hour and that I was at the wrong causeway. Then she drove me to the show in time, and we sang a musical about crab fishermen, so all's well that ends well.
But I still hate tax season.
Seth Brown is an award-winning humor writer, the creator of GodToVerse.com, and is incredibly bad at logistics. His column appears weekly in the Transcript and weakly on his Web site, www.RisingPun.com
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