1. You always know when you’re in the right line to fly to Boston from any European airport.
The chicly tailored outfits in various shades of charcoal gray and effortlessly slung Freitag shoulder bags suddenly give way to LL Bean Backpacks, Pepto Pink Ugg boots, and Old Navy Sweatpants.
2. Before dinner is even served on the flight, other people are already talking about hitting up Buzzy’s Roast Beef for a sub on the way home.
And how they can’t wait to go, “Down the Cape“, how the Sox are doing, and let’s not even bring up the G-D Yankees.
3. You’ll know you’ve arrived in Boston because instead of being herded through security in three unintelligible languages, you’re being shouted at in one unintelligible language.
In Boston we like to keep our A’s long, skip our R’s completely, and throw some extra H’s in there for good measure.
4. On the way home, your cab driver yells about some A-hole in the next lane who doesn’t know how to, “Use his damn blinkah”, and I know he’s talking about turn signals.
The blinkah is an instrument of war in Boston traffic. We wield it like we wield a middle finger. Sometimes we wield both at the same time.
5. All your favorite eccentric panhandlers and street musicians are still hanging out in Harvard Square and one of them has saved up enough dough since you left to buy himself a real Dahn Ni two chord fiddle.
Instead of playing one he made himself out of a styrofoam cup, a stick and some fishing line.
6. Later, you get off the T and there’s an impromptu rap jam session happening on the train platform.
Featuring folks from all walks of life from teens to adults, A DJ with a boom box, and a girl with a sax who just got out of classes at Berklee.
7. You can get absolutely any creature that’s crawled out of the sea battered and fried.
And served up in a basket with a side of fries.
8. You’re no longer the loudest person in any given public place.
9. You’re greeted with big hugs, kisses on both cheeks
And “How aahh yaahs???”
10. You’re suddenly overwhelmed with the feeling of being wicked psyched to be back in a place where sarcasm is the unofficial second language.
You know that wicked is good. Pissah is even better. And if you’re wicked pissah, you basically win at life.