The Freedom Trail Mafia

Gwen and I were walking past the Tremont Temple Church the other day, when we saw someone very familiar leading a tour group past it.

“Is that Mads?” Gwen said.

“It can’t be…”

As we moved closer, it was unmistakable: Mads, my Norwegian companion, was leading a tour group through Boston. He was dressed in a minuteman costume, and was wearing a backpack with a button that had a homemade note inscribed on it saying “Please don’t tip me, the tour really is free.”

“Should we say hi?”

“No, Mads already senses that we saw him, saying hi would just make things worse. We’ll discuss it when he comes back to the apartment later.”

That evening, Mads came in, sans minuteman costume and backpack.

“I guess I have some explaining to do.”

I nodded.

“It started a few weeks ago. Some Grifter Millennial was doing some ‘underground tour’ thing and charging people $20 a pop, but he didn’t know anything about Boston!—and not only that, the little shit had the audacity to ask for tips.”

“Well, the economy has recovered for us,” I said, “but for the kids, they’re not finding work like they expected. They need to make it one way or another.”

“You would defend them. Anyway, I felt like it was my duty to undercut this ‘underground tour’ market. I started offering my own tours, for free of course.”

I shook my head. Then I counted down with my fingers from three, to two, to one, and pointed at our door. On cue, there was a knock.

“I believe it’s for you Mads.”

He was puzzled, but he opened the door anyway. Two men dressed as minutemen barged in.

“Ah you tha dood out on Tremont today givin’ away free tahs?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Weyah tha Freedom Trail Mafia. No one gives tahs on ah turf withowt askin furst.”

“Yah, especially nowt free ones. What’re you, a mohron?”

I stood.

“Listen fellas, I understand you need to do what you need to do here, but I can’t have you using terms like that.”

“Sarry dood. What’re you, not economically smaht?”

“Thank you, that’s better.”