Old Friends

Over the last 2 years, a lot has happened and a lot has changed. The personalities are free-flowing, gradually shifting in and out of the slugging psyche. You seem some of the "regular" personalities, and then they disappear. Sometimes you find yourself wondering about where some of them have gone. For example, my mind still wanders to the pervert, the pimp, the still high school bitches, and the maniac driver. Because I go to the same place, every day, at the same time, I expect to see the same people. Sometimes that happens, and sometimes it doesn't.

Occasionally, I see someone drive up in line that I will acknowledge with a casual smile and wave as they pick up someone else. There are times when I see someone I haven't seen in a while, and I'm genuinely happy to see their face again. There are other times when I try to look away to avoid any unnecessary contact with someone I don't like because I know my facial expressions always betray me and show EXACTLY how I feel about someone in one look.

There are new people slugging these days, and I can no longer calculate with certainty how many people are ahead of me in line. Sometimes I figure I would get the next ride but 2 people step out in front of me, leaving me to wonder "WHO THE HELL ARE YOU????"

Yesterday, I was praying for a long line of unfamiliars to be in front of me so I could avoid one of my least favorite people on the planet. Yes, you guessed it, I hopped in with Benz Bitch, much to my dismay.

The REALLY funny part is that I jumped in the backseat, leaving the front seat available to the next unlucky slugger to walk up. We had to sit and wait for a few minutes because the line was thin and there were no other riders to our destination. Imagine the awkward silence? Well, there wasn't any because Benz Bitch started arguing with people in the line. hehe

There was some "confusion" resulting from misdirection and miscommunication on the part of the people at the front of the line. They were yelling the wrong destinations to those of us in the back, and Benz Bitch had actually been left sitting there for an extended pause because the ladies in the front were yelling to us in the back that she was going to an entirely different place. I KNEW where she was going, but I thought I'd hit the lottery and avoided having to ride with her because she had somewhere else to go. Nope, the stupid bitches at the front of the line were just ....well...stupid. They couldn't keep the cars' destinations straight and were confusing us in the back of the line. Even after I cleared it up and reluctantly climbed in, they still couldn't get it right.

Then, they had the NERVE to complain about Benz Bitch just "sitting there, not moving up." Hmmmm, well clearly they had underestimated the character they were trying to passively aggressively attack, because she heard THAT and went OFF. Then there came a lot of head wagging and attitude flying between Benz Bitch and Stupid Bitches 1 and 2. This seemed to go on forever. Well, just long enough for someone else to walk up at the exact moment that Benz Bitch decided to move her car up a few feet as she delivered her last zing at the 'Tard Captains. Poor slugger #2, who I know quite well, had his hand on the door handle and almost got it ripped off as she drove up. He stepped back in time to not lose a limb, and EVERYONE in line started shouting at Benz Bitch. Since she didn't see slugger #2 almost get dragged, the fact that everyone yelled at her really set her off.

Finally slugger #2 landed safely in the front seat of honor, and we FLEW out of the lot. I mean, she GUNNED it, pedal to the metal, please-god-don't-let-any-pedestrians-step-out-now kind of speed. I think we took the corner on two wheels, but I can't be sure.

She was mad and she was hanging on to it for the entire ride. Briefly, I appreciated her little oh-no-you-didn't exchange, and I thought....yeah, I'd probably do that too if it was me. But our bonds were severed when she decided to drive the way she was talking. Once she cleared the parking lot, she turned on her radio to an eardrum piercing maximum volume. There's nothing like listening to Steve Harvey at maximum volume at 6AM. She was mad, and she was going to make sure that not a SOUL said or breathed anything to her for the entire ride.

Despite my exhaustion, I couldn't sleep this one out. She was crossing 3 lanes of traffic at full speed without signaling, and doing it repeatedly. She was chatting on her cell phone to a "friend" while trying to adjust the heat to the heavily-roasted setting (I get cold, but damn.). Then she turned up the radio AGAIN when a song came on in between Steve Harvey's rants about "girl you goin do whatchyou goin do." Yeah, OK.

I was gasping for thick, hot air every time she had a near miss with another car, and I was certain that nobody would have heard my screams for help as our car teeter-tottered off the edge of the 14th Street bridge over the sound of Mary J. Blige's untalented squeals of female-empowerment.

Oh, and did I mention that the traffic was backed up because of an accident? Yeah, it was THAT day. I get my good old friend Benz Bitch, when she's pissed at the world, on a day when I have to endure her inherent bitchassness for more than the typical commute time.

Hey old friend, it's nice to see you again.

Drinking and Driving

There are times when I have to drive to work, and it almost always pans out to be the days when there is a major traffic incident. So, as it would have to be, I had to drive on a Friday. It was a miserable, miserable traffic day going in, and I was deeply dreading going home. I managed to arrange for a few familiar faces to be my sluggers hoping that our past laughs and conversations would make the ride go by faster.

I wasn't disappointed by the conversation or the laughs. We had quite a few college-level laughs that involved body-function humor and a few yells out the car window at unsuspecting HOV violators. The demographics in the car was 2 guys and 2 girls, and the conversations were bouncing around between woman-bashing to man-bashing and back again. It was a 2 hour exchange of snips and jokes and inappropriate comments, and I was glad to have asked them along.

And then things got weird.

One of the guys mentioned "Hey, we should go grab a couple of happy hour drinks after we get back." And, being caught up in the celebratory mood, we all said "ooooh, yeah~! What a great idea!"

So we continued on down the road laughing and joking, and I started to notice that one of the men in the backseat was a little too interested in me and my stories. He kept wanting me to expand on some of the more "inappropriate" comments, and the girl riding with me was starting to give me those "whoa, freaky" kind of looks.

We finally made it back to the lot, and as everyone dispersed from the car, the discussion of where to go came up. After the guys made the decision to go somewhere they like, the other girl BAILS on me and says she can't go. So, there I am, stuck having at least 1 "polite" drink with the boys, both of whom are married.

And then things got weirder.

We walked into this bar that I've never even noticed existed, and it was dark, and smelly and the total tooth count in the bar was probably 36 (my 32 plus the 4 the bartender had). There were about 6 people in the bar other than us, and all of them were the kind of men who looked like they either just got out of prison or were on their last drinking binge before committing a triple homicide.

We sat at the bar instead of the "tables," which looked an awful lot like they were stolen from various places, and we ordered our drinks. I was trying to find something that didn't make me look too foofy in front of all the serial killers, since I didn't want to show weakness. I opted for the shot of whiskey and a coke. I still had to drive home and figured one shot of whiskey wouldn't be too much. The boys ordered their beers, and we all began to chit chat. I carried the body language of a woman about to be gang-raped, but I kept the conversation flowing. The guy who was showing too much interest started asking questions about some of my more adventurous experiences with men. It was at that point that the enormous "oh shit" flag was raised.

So I kicked back the whiskey shot and started doing the not so subtle time check. Overly Interested Guy starts inviting me to concerts and making comments about sexy shoes and lingerie. His friend, feeling the level of discomfort radiating off of me, starts talking about his wife and then says he has to get home. I pull out some cash to pay for my drink, and the guys decide I can't pay for it. That's nice except in my mind I am thinking that will obligate me to reciprocate at another happy hour in the future. Not something I planned on doing ever again. Mr. Inappropriate says "you're gonna stay with me and have another round right?"

Er, no.

I said "you know, I've got to get home and spend some time with my daughter." That wasn't enough for him. He started talking about how she could wait a little while longer and one more drink wouldn't hurt anything. I tried to reason with him using the dangers of drinking and driving, and that didn't work either.

So, out of desperation, I used the fail-safe exit strategy. I leaned in and lowered my voice "I have to get home to see if my test results are back. I just had a herpes outbreak that seemed a little off, and I wanted to make sure I hadn't also contracted syphilis." He laughed. I gave him the straightest "I'm not kidding dumbass" look, took a sip of his beer that he'd just ordered, and sauntered to the door. He was not sure if I was joking or not, but one thing's for sure, he was distracted enough that I was able to escape relatively unaffected.

I will never drive and agree to drinks again.

He also has not asked for a ride from me or offered me a ride since. :)

Gotta Sing!

There are some days when you take a ride that appears to be completely and utterly uninteresting. You are riding along, and you are resting quietly. Your head starts to slowly relax; your breathing steadies, and you feel yourself drifting off to sleep. The driver appears to be cautious, so you feel relatively confident that you can sleep without too much worry.

It's always those rides that end up surprising you the most.

I rode in with 2 men. I was sitting in the front seat because the bubbly, optimistic little man behind me snagged the back seat, but not before opening my door for me and calling me Ma'am. He greeted our driver with great enthusiasm, and off we went. Our driver was listening to a local radio station's morning talk show at a respectable volume. Everything was smooth as molasses, and I was really starting to settle into a stress-free morning commute, for a change.

I was half listening to the talk show host as the show returned from commercial. He was talking over an old song that I vaguely remembered but wasn't really paying attention to. I started to tune his abrasive voice out and slip into a temporary coma, when BAM--in a loud, booming, entirely inappropriate voice that broke the silence and stability of the car, Mr. Backseat Bubbles began singing along to the song I hadn't really realized was still playing.

"THROUGH THE FIRE....TO THE LIMIT.....TO THE WALL...."

He hit a falsetto that I didn't know any man could really hit, but I had mad respect for his skills.

The driver and I were startled, and I just busted out laughing. This of course encouraged our enthusiastic Chaka Khan wannabe to sing even more, and he went through the song until the DJ turned it off and continued his conversation.

Then he settled down and went to sleep.

I guess when you gotta sing, you gotta sing.

PRIMAL SCREAM!!!!

OK, you guys can all stop giving me crap about not blogging lately. I know, I know! For the most part, I’ve just been too busy or too lazy to do an update, but things have been somewhat predictable lately. I do have a couple of “reserve” stories, so I will probably do a couple of updates close together. So sit back, relax, and shut the hell up.

There are days when I hate everything. Those days are growing to be more and more frequent, but –good grief—today offered me a whole new collection of things, and people, to hate.

I rode in today with a man who normally slugs in alongside me. In fact, I have blogged about him hogging the backseat and snoring. He’s a nice, older man who appears to be gentleman for the most part. Yet, I hate him and his car. Here’s why…
I was the first rider to arrive in the car, and of course, I chose the premium backseat real estate. I always get a funny look from drivers when I am the firs to get in but I choose the backseat. It’s like they take it personally that I don’t want to sit up front with them. And they should take it personally, because I don’t want to sit with them up front. He gave me an awkward glance and then started to chit-chat while we waited for someone else who would be going to our location. He had all the windows open in this fancy little SUV, and it wasn’t too bad because it was pouring rain yet. I was only getting slightly drizzled upon through the front and back windows. He slurped his coffee and talked about how his wife loses everything, and I sat back there praying that he’d shut up and close the windows soon. Finally, a nice man hopped in, and we were ready to hit the road.
Shortly after pulling off, Mr. Chit-Chat rolled up the windows and turned on the air conditioner. It was at this point that I realized why he had the windows down to begin with. As the cold, dry air of the air conditioner began to replace the humid, fresh air in the car, the smell of rotting dead Trout guts began to fill my nostrils. I gasped for air and began to choke and cough. It was putrid, to say the least. I don’t know who he pissed off to have them put dead fish in his car, but that person is downright cruel. Oh God, the smell. I was trying to bury my face in my clothes, and at one point, I think I even grabbed a handful of my own hair and started breathing it in.

But, being true to my rugged slugger’s composition, I decided to just sleep through it. If you sleep through it, it will end more quickly and won’t smell as bad. Unfortunately, Old Man Fish Guts decided he wanted to listen to political radio AND comment on it. This was just too much. Since I work in politics, I put in a solid 8 hours centered on political issues, and I am forced to make myself aware of all sides to every issue. I can sit and discuss politics with anyone of any party on any topic. Just because I can does not mean that I WANT TO while I am riding to work and trying to get caught up on sleep! He starts going on about the “wisdom” of Obama, and how he’s the smartest man he’s ever seen in America. How, HOW can I sit in the backseat and sleep through this??? I mean COME ON! I can guard my senses from the nauseating smell of steamed, rotting fish guts, but I can’t withstand the assault on my intellectual sensibilities that declares Obama to be the smartest man in America. OH MY GOD!

My legs started to twitch. By the time he had moved to a discussion of Obama’s “amazing” policies, my leg was in a full-on fidget going about 100 miles an hour. I was squeezing my purse and sending him finger gestures from behind it. I put my sunglasses on, despite the dark clouds and rain, so that he couldn’t see the evil eye beams I was sending his direction. I’m pretty sure that my leg twitch was rocking the SUV.

He was up there slurping and laughing and basking in his Obama-glory when he almost rear-ended not one, but two different vehicles. He started chuckling, CHUCKLING about how I did the auto-Oh Shit response of pumping the air brakes with my twitchy leg. That’s when I lost it.

For the remainder of the trip, I produce a primal scream in my head that, should it have actually been let out, would have deafened the entire population of the DC metro area. It was guttural, and angry, and it involved a lot of cussing. The good thing about doing a primal scream in your mind is that you never run out of breath and your voice never gives out on you.

We arrived at our general location, and I attempted to get out when the front seat passenger jumped out. Our gentleman driver stopped me and insisted that he drop me off at my office because it was raining and he didn’t want me to walk in the rain.

I hate him.

The Consequences of Sleeping with Strangers

Determined to have a restful nap this morning, I strode to the line with great excitement when I saw the line was short and cars were piling up. I knew my odds of getting a quick ride were pretty good. I recognized the person in front of me as being a regular to my location, so we chatted briefly. Within about 2 minutes of arriving, I scored a ride! My friendly "regular" bumped me out of the backseat privilege, which I knew would make napping less comfortable, but I was determined to get in a few more minutes of sleep before getting here today.

It's raining, so traffic was heavier than a "normal" day. Within 5 minutes, I was asleep. Deep, head resting on your chest, lips drooping kind of sleep. I woke briefly when the driver slammed on his wet brakes, but once I did a quick assessment and realized all was good, I hit the snooze button hoping to get a few more minutes of sleep. And I did.

The next thing to wake me up was "Oh, I took the wrong exit." Still half asleep, I once again did an assessment. Before opening my eyes, I thought to myself "great, this guy is going to take us to Rock Creek Park and murder us slowly." I tentatively opened my eyes to see him taking an exit that should have been easy to navigate in the general direction toward where we needed to go. But, when 3 strangers share a car, you never know what talents any of them have.

The driver and I were directionally retarded. I tried, as I often do when lost, to orient myself to the landmarks. I knew that this one particularly notable DC landmark was something I see from my office everyday, so I tried to mentally backtrack from there to my office. That didn't work real well. The driver handed me a map and then insisted on just going whatever direction he felt we needed to go. After about 15 minutes aimlessly wandering the one-way, wrong-way, security barricaded streets of DC, my backseat stealing friend said "we're on the wrong side of DC guys!" Well, that would have been helpful to know about 10 turns ago wouldn't it!!!

So we turned ourselves around (thank you for the few roundabouts in DC), and I tried to navigate using his tiny, mouse-sized map of DC. I couldn't tell where we were or what direction we were going in, but I was completely and utterly lost! The driver was in no better shape than me, and backseat stealer was just saying to go "south." Helpful!

We finally started to get into an area that I recognized and frequently go to. The problem is when I go into DC it's usually by Metro or someone else's car. I don't drive in DC for a good reason! It was designed by a French moron! We reached a landmark restaurant that I love to frequent, and I was pretty sure I could get us back from there. Another problem there is that I always WALK to that restaurant from work, so I cut through parks and alleys. Not terribly helpful when driving!

I started to roughly remember the general way back and maneuvered us around the dead-ends and barriers until we finally got on a street I KNEW would get us to my office.

At this point, the driver was really nervous because he was going to be late to a meeting and he still had to drop us off and drive more to get there. He was tapping his leg and muttering to himself, and I kept feeling a little stupid for not knowing my way around the city I've worked in for YEARS! But then I thought to myself, "wait a minute self! You were a passenger in his car. HE was supposed to know how to get you there!"

We finally made it here an HOUR late, and I couldn't help but laugh. I felt bad for him for being late to his meeting, but I was late to work too! It took us an hour to navigate through DC to go just a few miles! It was pathetic. We had a collective navigation brain trust of negative zero!

I started to think to myself...I would never go on a date without being prepared. I'm thinking I should never get in another car without a map at least.

Traffic Jam Kit

Despite my consistent cynicism, I've remained relatively optimistic about my commuting arrangement. I manage to successfully slug to my office on average about 17 times a month. There are times when I have to bend a bit to get to or from work, but generally, the system works for me. There are other times when I need more flexibility, so I drive. I don't like to do it because sleeping behind the wheel is heavily frowned upon in VA. I drive on occasion, and I usually don't enjoy it. But I have a good reason.

At first, I thought it was a coincidence. After a very good sampling of driving occurrences, I concluded that I have the curse. Every time I drive, and I mean EVERY time I drive, there is a traffic jam of some sort. Most days, I get to and from work in 45 minutes or less. That barely gives me enough time to fall into a decent REM. I don't mind traffic jams when I'm a passenger because I generally sleep through them. But, I have once again angered the gods of commuting because whenever I drive I get the major backups.

I drove to work twice last week, and both times, BOTH TIMES, there was a major backup on 95 that cost me nearly an hour! Not just once, but BOTH times I drove! This has happened to me before, but only in scattered circumstances since I haven't driven very often. When I randomly had to drive 2 days in a row, and on both days I got stuck in massive jams, I knew it was me.

On day 1 of this 2-day hell excursion, I joked with a passenger that it always happened to me when I drive. One of them predictably said "remind me to never ride with you again." Well, now. That wasn't very nice. So, already being tired and grumpy, I had to retort, "at least that means I'm BEHIND the accident and not IN it." Then I told him he couldn't ride with me anymore. :)

On day 2, I rode in with a crazy woman who kept saying that she was nothing but a slug and couldn't speak her mind. (Not that anybody asked, mind you) At one point, I sarcastically thanked a guy for cutting me off, and she piped up with an offer to teach me some expletives she learned in the military. I asked her why she was talking to me and reminded her that she was just a slug. The behemoth sitting in the front seat had her iPod SO loud that I could hear every single note and lyric of her awful music over top of my music playing at a moderate volume. I noticed whenever I would say something she would take her earphones out, so I spent a lot of time talking about nothing at all just to annoy her.

So both times I drove, I was stuck in a traffic jam with annoying people and very little escape or distraction. I know I usually get it pretty easy, but that particular arrangement royally sucks. The next time I drive, I will have my traffic jam kit prepared. One of the supplies will be a perfected physical tick that will scare the crap out of my passengers. If I'm going to get stuck with them, I might as well have some fun!

I had one of those uniquely interesting rides into work today, and I can't wait to talk about it.

I rode in this morning with a couple of really talkative 20-ish mechanics (yes, mechanics--referring mentally back to my post on commuter uniforms). I've gotten a ride from them before, so I knew I was safe (well, from a murderer at least). I couldn't have enjoyed this particular ride more!

I started out a bit annoyed because I was dead tired and just wanted to sleep. The car was an old beat up sedan of some sort (why do all mechanics drive crappy cars?), and it smelled like an ashtray at a bar. Everything was dirty, and I felt like I had to stay completely still once I burrowed into a somewhat clean spot. Neither the driver nor the passenger believed in that outdated, stuffy old rule of wearing your seatbelt, so I was relatively sure that I was going to die with greasy mechanics in my lap should we crash on the way in. As I closed my eyes to try to recapture a really great dream I had, I was rudely awakened by entirely too much perkiness coming from a guy.

Mr. Goodwrench #1 excitedly asked me how I've been. Apparently, he remembers me from previous experiences. Since I knew he was a talker, I tried to keep my answers short to prevent further conversation. Apparently, there's no such method in his car. I made a joke about how much life sucks (OK, maybe not a "joke" but he didn't know that), and that opened the door to him spilling all too many details about his presently "happy" life. Here are some of the things I learned.

1. He is getting a lot of money back on his taxes because he has a lot of kids from other women.

2. He likes to exact revenge by destroying people's cars.

3. His previous girlfriend(s) left him after getting boob-jobs.

4. His wife is getting a boob-job.

5. His sister is a scary lesbian.

5. His passenger friend likes to beat people up who don't like the way he talks. (I lovingly complemented his lisp several times before leaving.)

6. Mechanics' grease does not blend well with tan colored clothes.

7. He likes to be a gentleman, but he rarely remembers (his words.)

8. He will beat up anyone I want taken care of since my old Mob connections are all in jail.

9. He takes it very personally when someone flinches at his apparent inability to judge the distance between the stopped car in front of him and his own bumper.

10. His "yee haw" was genuine.

11. He aspires to have all of his kids under one roof in a new double-wide.

12. It's perfectly OK to put your own redneck spin on Eminem's style.

13. Being a redneck is a badge of honor for most. For him, it's a way of life.

14. I'm the "coolest bitch" he's ever driven to DC.

Damn straight!

The Commuter Uniform

While you find hundreds of people with hundreds of unique personality traits commuting out of one lot, you will find some predictable commonalities. Most of us wear the "commuter uniform."

On a typical, cold day at the sluglot, you will find most women wearing their heavy coats and shoes that don't quite work with their outfits. We all wear our commuter shoes because, hey, let's face it, high heels are hard on your feet and easily ruined. So you see most women standing in line with expensive suits or dresses and chunky sneakers or Crocs (ick) or some sort of comfy slip-on. I personally have several options depending on the season. If the weather is wet and icky, I wear Uggs. If it's cold but dry, I wear slip-on, lined clogs. If it's hot, I wear flip-flops. I'm a beach girl after all! Men, you have it too good. Most men just wear their neat little tie-up business shoes without a second thought.

Beyond shoes, we all, men and women, seem to carry a plethora of bags. Women have their purses of course, but it seems we all go a step further on that one. I personally carry a purse (very large), an extra bag for shoes, books, hat, scarf, gloves, etc etc, a lunch box that won't fit in either of the other 2 bags, and on occasion I carry a laptop bag. Most of my fellow commuters share the same burden. Even the men seem to be carrying backpacks, laptop bags, lunch boxes, and man-bags. We all stand in line leaning this way or that and banging into each other with our bag collections.

On top of the commuter shoes and bags, nearly all of us share one other thing in common. We are all heading into DC, and one of the most common, easily identifiable characteristics of a DC worker is the badge lanyard. If you work in Washington DC, chances are you have to carry at least 1 ID badge that swipes you in and out of your building and keeps you from being thrown into a detainee prison. I personally carry 3, but that's on the light end of what most people must carry. We all walk around with our badges swinging left and right, and we all ignore them.

We all coexist and commute with our commuter uniforms, and everything works out just fine. It's when someone is not wearing the commuter uniform that we all sort of stand on edge.

Today, a man in his mid to late thirties was standing in line and everyone was keeping a distance. He stood there, innocently enough, but it was his lack of a commuter uniform of any kind that made us all suspicious. He was wearing sort of dirty jeans, a tee shirt and light jacket, a baseball hat, and very well-worn sneakers. He wasn't carrying a bag. He wasn't wearing a badge of any kind. He was just a guy waiting for a ride.

If you stop and think about it, so what? There are no rules that state that only DC professionals are allowed to slug. There are no laws that say you can't slug unless you wear a badge. But it's what we are all used to, and we get suspicious if someone doesn't fit the bill. We stereotype for a reason. It helps us categorize hundreds of strangers to determine who is and is not a threat. We can't know someone's soul based on their appearance, and we all know that a suit does not make you any less a criminal. But we all stand in judgment when someone stands out like a blinking red "danger" sign. I may joke about the possibility of commuter homicide when riding with strangers, but let's face it, it's a very real possibility.

If I was driving, and this man would have gotten into my car, I would admittedly be freaking out the whole way to work. In the area where I work, there are not a lot of people who would have cause to be down there unless they work for the government in some capacity. What protections do we have if someone is not wearing the uniform?

Remember that the whole slug concept was started by military servicemembers commuting to the Pentagon. They all wear recognizable uniforms and badges, and even out of uniform they all seem to be easily identifiable.

So, now I'm trying to prepare myself for what I would do if someone like that gets into my car OR is going to the same destination as me and ends up sharing a ride. With all the craziness in the world, I'm thinking I might need to add mace to my commuter uniform.

Luck of the Draw

Some mornings just don't go well. It almost seems like once the suck ball starts rolling you juts can't stop it. By the time I got to work this morning, I was rolling full speed in a life-size suck ball.

As I entered the commuter lot this morning, some clunky-Mustang-driving redneck cut me off and nearly made me wreck my car. My heart was drumming pretty steadily by the time I reached the few available parking spaces left in the lot (thanks inconsiderate van-pools. Us sluggers just L-O-V-E you). I excitedly pulled into the one lovely space left on the row I was in when Mr. Teeter Totter decided to open his car door. My cat-like reflexes of course saved me from ripping his door off, but I sat there a quarter into the space with a line of angry cars jockeying for the holy grail of parking spaces while he peeled his enormous, roly-poly body out of his teeny-tiny little clown car. It seemed to take 5 minutes to complete this process before I could pull into the space. Cars were revving their engines behind me thinking that I must be smoking crack instead of parking, and I got some pretty ugly looks as people were finally clear to go around me. Not my fault guys!

I finally got safely parked, and I loaded all of my work gear onto my shoulders with great exertion of effort. Who knew you needed 3 enormous shoulder bags to sit in an office all day? It was peak traffic time in the lot, so I had to stand by my car for at least 2 minutes waiting to cross the lane to get to the line. I patiently waited for everyone to go by without having the courtesy of letting me cross, and I finally got a break. As I started to cross the lane, a car coming from the lane pointing straight at me decides to come flying through the lane and not stop at the end of it. I was in the middle of the perpendicular lane when he bolted out and almost hit me. I froze and braced myself for what would have been a really painful meet-and-greet with his front bumper. I must have glowed with fear because he slammed on his brakes and stopped just inches from my legs. Then HE waved me across the road. Wow, how generous of you.

He turned the corner, and I walked on my way to the line with shaky legs and heart palpitations (I'm going to need a cardiologist soon). I approached the line and saw at least 20 people in line, and I could tell there was a car sitting at the front of the line waiting. Clearly none of those 20 people were going where that car was headed, so they all sat there staring at each other. I asked the folks ahead of me as I got to the line where the car was going. They turned and said MY location. Wooohooo! Rock on! I love walking up to the line and getting directly into a car, especially when the line is long.

The problem is that I looked around the people toward the car and realized it was the guy who almost just turned me into a grease spot on the road. Wow, this lucky and it's not even St. Patrick's Day?

I hosted a little internal debate between my ego and id, and I finally decided that the guy didn't ACTUALLY kill me, so maybe there's a chance I'll make it work. His car was smelly and uncomfortable, and he slammed on his brakes A LOT. But in the end, he dropped me off at work in good time and alive, so I guess it wasn't all bad. :) (This is me trying to see the "bright" side of things....how am I doing?)

Passive Aggressive Commuting

Most days, people leave me with a bad taste in my mouth. Common courtesy is a thing of the past. "Old Timers" lovingly refer to the past as the "good ol' days." I wouldn't exactly say that I'm an old timer, but I would say that I remember when courtesy was the norm and not the exception. Our society has created an individualist monster that feeds on selfishness and has no respect for the "fellow man." Most people act based on a "what's in it for me" mentality, and they don't care who they hurt, offend, or completely screw in the meantime. Take this "me" mentality and put it up against my naturally aggressive, somewhat demanding personality, and you get a pretty heated exchange between commuters.

The line of riders was relatively short this morning, and the drivers were stacking up. When that happens, someone has to have the nerve to step out of the line and walk to the cars to ask where they are going. This helps keep things moving instead of cars just sitting still in the back of the line while people are standing in the freezing cold waiting for them. So, today, I sacrificed my line status to move back to the line of cars to call out destinations. People started scurrying back toward me to get into cars, and one of the cars was going to my destination. I could have easily just jumped into that car without regard for whether or not someone was in line in front of me. But, I live by the golden rule, and I refused to rob one of my fellow riders out of a ride. So I called out that destination to the front of the line, but nobody was moving. I called out once again just in case, and there was still no response. While my back was turned, two guys I didn't know heard me and were starting to get into that car.

Oh hell no you don't.

I turned to see this happening and instantly switched on the "bitch." I said "HEY! NO NO NO, I am in line for that car!" The one guy turned to his friend and laughed. My response: "What the hell are you laughing at? Get out of that car!" The driver was clearly caught in the middle, and he couldn't accommodate a third rider, so he just sat there waiting for us to sort this all out. The jerk's friend tells him he needs to step aside and let me have the ride, and his response was "why should I?" Unbelievable! No courtesy.

The nice guy steps out of the car and says "you can take my place." Really admirable of the guy since it was my ride to begin with, but his friend wasn't giving it up. So he was in the front, and I was in the back. Mr. No-Manners decides to act like a 3 year old in a temper tantrum, and he starts doing little annoying passive aggressive things to drive me crazy. He pushes the seat back as far as he could without completely crushing my legs, so I buried my knees as far into the back of his seat as I could get them. It required a great deal of effort, but I kept constant and undoubtedly uncomfortable pressure on his back the whole time. He kept cracking his window to "let fresh air in." So I would lean forward and cough and sneeze on his head. At one point I'm pretty sure I produced phlegm in a fake cough that landed on his ear. :) Oh well.

The whole ride was a tit for tat exchange of immature behavior, but I was not going to let him get away with any of it. It ruined my nap, but I was comforted by a sense of accomplishment that I had also prevented him from enjoying his ride.

We both got out at the same place, but he walked in a different direction. He tried one last time to get in my way, so I nailed him with my lunch bag in his leg. Ooops, who knew fruit and yogurt could be so heavy. I just smiled and flipped him a good old fashioned Irish 2 as we went our separate ways.

All I can do is hope that nobody else ever lets him get away with that again! As for his friend, next time I see him, he's got a guaranteed ride.

Tales From the Sluglot: A Notable Return

Tales From the Sluglot: A Notable Return

A Notable Return

Wow, yes, it has been 2 months since my last update! I imagine most people have lost interest at this point, but this is still a great outlet for me when things get a little wacky in the slug world. Yesterday was one of those times.

I’ve been getting lazy lately because I’ve established a predictable routine of riding with the same people nearly every day. Yesterday, that routine was shattered when work got in the way and my driver couldn’t leave work on time. So, in true flexible slugging tradition, I slipped on my comfortable shoes and hoofed it over to the slug-hub at the Pentagon. I stepped into line behind two men and watched anxiously as cars drove through the lane. When you slug from the Pentagon, you have much less predictable circumstances, and the drivers are from all over the place. You don’t really come to know the characters that you will ride with, so it’s a crap-shoot. Anyway, I stood in line and watched this nice, brand new, really sweet Mercedes pull up with a really attractive guy driving, but as my luck dictates, he took the two men in front of me and didn’t offer to take a third person. I waited only about two more minutes for the next car, and appearances were definitely deceiving!

The driver was a 30-something black woman in a nice, clean, bright red sedan. I figured that it would be an uneventful ride during which I could get a few quick minutes of rest. HA! Instead, I got in and before we got to the ramp of the HOV, she lifts her leg and farts toward me. She rips one out, and then looks at me to see if I noticed. I was too shocked to actually react, so I just smiled and looked out the window. After the interior air was sufficiently blanketed in fart gas, she made a comment about being sleepy and needing to open the windows. My first instinct was to roll my window all the way down, but I decided to be a little more subtle. We hit the open road with a few cracked windows and my wool coat covered in leftover Mexican lunch gas, and she started to suck on a 20oz bottle of coke. She wasn’t just drinking it, she was sucking on it. Each suck was followed by a dramatic lip smacking and open-mouthed sigh of satisfaction. She was doing this about 10 or 12 times in a row before putting the bottle back into the holder. Meanwhile, she continued to fill the car up with noxious butt fumes and started to drift in and out of her lane. She was driving like a drunk driver, only she was drunk on Coke and red beans and rice. I was frozen in my seat by panic and a fear of deep breaths, and she decided to step it up a level by picking up her cell phone to make a call! I thought the stress was going to push me into an anxiety attack that would require us all to pull over and get out.

She got on her phone and did a lot of “mmhmm, yeah girrrrrrl, I know you right” and “mmm, you ain’t got to tell him a damn thing.” All the while, she was swerving the car in emphasis depending on the direction her “free” hand was waving on the steering wheel. She blabbered on for about 5 miles, and my heart was now approaching a full-stop. Finally, she tells her friend on the phone “girl, I be so tired I can’t hold my eyes open. I hope I make it home.”

S E R I O U S L Y?????????????

I turn to the guy in the backseat to see if he is paying attention to all this, but he has his earphones in and his nose buried in his scarf! Smart bastard!

She hung up her phone, sucked on some more Coke, and started to pick her teeth with her freshly designed finger nails. I am assuming she had to clear out the remainder of lunch that wasn’t being cycled through her colon. She picked, sucked, swerved, and farted her way all the way down the HOV while I panicked, gagged, and prayed. After several near-misses and major horn blows from neighboring drivers who didn’t appreciate her loose lane standards, she moved over to the right lane where her drifts were primarily focused on the wake-up strips on the outside of the white line. Apparently, she’s a heavy sleeper because she rode on the “wake-up” strip for about a half a mile at one point and didn’t bother to correct.

When I arrived at the lot, I went to take off my seat belt and realized that I had death-gripped the belt and dug my fingernails into my own flesh. Normally I have a low tolerance for pain, but the panic did a manual override on pain and I didn’t notice. The backseat guy hopped out blissfully unaware of our near-death experiences, or at least unfazed by them. I detached my fingernails from the palm of my hand and fumbled with the seat belt before launching myself out of her car. When she drove off very slowly down the middle of the road, I had to sit on the curb and regain my composure. I had so much adrenaline coursing through my veins that I almost couldn’t sit still. I was so very happy to get behind the wheel of my car, and I was keeping a very close eye out for her around town from now on.

I decided today was a good day to drive to work.