The Perfect Storm

It was bound to happen, especially with my luck these days. One person who embodies nearly every irritating characteristic known to man offers me a ride home. It was inevitable and unpleasant.

I started the day thinking I would be writing a long complaint about the car engine parts I shared a seat with in the morning. I was ready to vent about the smell of grease and oil and redneck all over my clothes this morning. And then it happened...

Mr. Tsunami picked me up to take me home, and it didn't start off well. First, he was late. And I don't mean a few minutes. He was 20 minutes late with no phone call. As if my freaking day wasn't long enough, I wanted to add 20 minutes to it standing in the rain with Jeffrey Dahmer in the middle of DC. (Yeah, I'm pretty sure the guy stalking me was related to Dahmer....long story...but scary)

I guess this guy thinks that because he has a "luxury" vehicle he gets a pass on manners and good slugging etiquette. I disagree.

He picked me up late, and he suggested that I get in the front seat. I HATE the front seat. I especially hate the front seat when the third and final passenger is this guy's best friend to whom he talked the whole way home. If you know you are picking up your best dude, do you throw him in the back seat? NO!

Speaking of seats, they were leather and COLD. Apparently Hurricane Harry doesn't believe in heat, so I sat there FREEZING...literally shivering...the entire way home.

I was tired and wanted desperately to sleep as I had several hours of home overtime to complete yet. These two bozos decided to talk about absolutely NOTHING relevant to anyone. I had the pod on and their incessant yapping was still coming through. To make it worse, Teddy Tornado has the WORST BREATH EVER. Imagine the worst garbage smell if you've ever experienced (think rotting diapers in a garbage heat in late summer in Miami). Now imagine that smell bouncing off the windows everytime this guy opened his mouth to talk. Yep, there was no escape. I tried to tuck my head into the little corner of the window where the seatbelt is, but the aerodynamics of luxury vehicles basically makes it impossible to hide from the ricocheting air draft from his hell-hole of a mouth.

It doesn't matter anyway. I could NEVER sleep wondering if those high-dollar airbags were going to come flying out at my face any second. Earthquake Erwin was doing the "I'm going to drive really fast and test out my brakes at the last second" option, and I was trying really hard not to cry. I'm pretty sure I ate my tongue when he almost sent us flying UNDER an 18-wheeler.

The funny thing is he was bragging to his friend, with whom he appears to spend a lot of time and drives with frequently, about his 2002 BMW. Wow. Seriously? You've had this thing 100 years and you are still bragging about it? Come on. It's time to upgrade to a new outdated replacement for your penis that stopped working 20 years ago.

To top off this beautiful ride, Sal the Cyclone took me to an entirely different location which would have required a phone call on my behalf to get back to my car. He neglected to inform me of this, and I made that known. Cooler heads prevailed and he agreed to get me to my car (one piece was still optional to him).

As we approached the lot, I said "so this is a 2002 huh?" in my best Marilyn Monroe, I'm terribly interested in you kind of voice. He smiled proudly and let out a mouth-cloud so toxic that could not only reverse Global Warming but send us into another ice age. I said "yeah, I had a 2003, but I got rid of it because I wanted something newer. Thanks for the ride. Have a nice night!"

Next time, I won't go looking for the fish when a storm is coming.