Powell Vindicated

The Chemical Weapons Convention banned the production or stockpiling of chemical and biological weapons in roughly 1997.  The CWC defines chemical weapons as any toxic chemical or its precursor that can cause death, injury, temporary incapacitation or sensory irritation through its chemical action. The justification for the US going into Iraq after 9/11 was evidence, which subsequently "disappeared," of these banned chemical weapons.  It has only been recently that I figured out why we couldn't find them.  

Wrapped up in one little tiny, commercially available package, we have these "air freshener" car vent clips that have the chemical intensity to basically destroy your sense of smell and poison your brain so that it can no longer process any smells that happen to get through the chemical cloud before your olfactory sense dies.  Any slug will tell you that these things are ev-er-y-where.  I'd venture a guess that roughly 7 out of 10 cars has one of these noxious, poisonous, toxic cartridges "innocently" tucked into the slats of their vents--and there is never just ONE.  Oh no, there is usually one for EVERY vent.  If you have ever had to sit in an enclosed vehicle with these little weapons of mass destruction affixed to at least 4 vents on full blast, you understand exactly what I mean. 

What in the risen unholy hell are folks doing in their cars that they need to basically chemically incinerate any and all smells in their cars???

Every time I get out of one of those death labs, my nose hair is singed off, my clothes smell like Saddam Hussein's test lab, and I feel lightheaded and nauseous.  I'm convinced that the these car clips were used to cover up the smell of the Iraqi chemical weapon stockpiles, which is why we never found the chemical weapons in Iraq.  These things must be banned.  Immediately.

You Are What You Drive

A person's car tells you a lot about them.  We all subconsciously draw conclusions about the people around us in traffic based on what they drive, and honestly, we are rarely wrong.  You see the minivan, and you know the driver, of course, spends a lot of time hauling around a brood of kids to various activities and has given over to convenience over style.  You see a VW Beetle (punchbuggy!-got ya!), and you know the driver is either a college-age girl, probably in a sorority, or an older, single cat-lady type that keeps the big flower on her dash and hasn't touched a man since she owned her first VW Beetle (punchbuggy!  got ya again!).  You see the Toyota, any model really, and you know that person is really just being practical.  I'm intentionally skipping mentioning those who drive hybrids and "smartcars" because those assholes deserve their own blog post.  For those who feel the need to go that extra mile to tell you who they are, they decorate their car with a ton of stickers.  Those, too, are a special breed of asshole who deserve their own post.  But alas, this post is dedicated to the cars that indisputably cry douchebag!

There are different levels of douchecars for different levels of doucheary of the drivers, of course, but they all pretty much say the same things.   A douchecar is typically driven by an overly aggressive douche driver who cuts in and out of traffic and rides the asses of everyone only to bolt around them and gun it until he gets to the next car to ride the ass of.  And/Or they are loudly overcompensating for their lack of masculinity, and therefore their lack of getting laid.  They are oblivious to this actually, which is what makes it even more hilariously douchey, because they believe they are ladies' men who can't beat the all the women away so he gets a fast car to get away from them.    

As a slug, I accept most levels of douchery and ride in many different douchecars.  I've had a lot of experience with douches in my life, so riding for 30-ish minutes with a douchedriver is a blip on the big radar of life.  However, however, however, I simply cannot do the Dodge Challenger and all the douchery that it brings.  I made the massive mistake of getting into a Dodge Challenger a few weeks ago, and he nearly killed us within the first 10 seconds of the ride.  I was praying the whole way there that if we got into an accident I wouldn't die surrounded by a big bag of soggy, mangled douche.  Thankfully I survived, but I will NEVER ride with him again. 

It's been rainy and disgusting in DC all week.  I've stood in the rain an extra 30 minutes (total) because I refused to get into his car.  He sat there staring at me, completely confused, because I was standing in the line but wasn't getting in his car.  He rolled his window down and said where he was headed.  I said "I know" and still stood there.  By day 2, he didn't even ask. 

I see him sitting there, and it takes me back to the olden days of the douchebags leaning on their Trans Ams with the giant chicken painted on the hood asking me if I wanted a ride.  Didn't do it then.  Not gonna do it now.

Roofie Me Please

I'm so thankful I didn't wear a skirt today, but I really wish I would have worn my sports bra.

Dude driver rolled up in his jacked up Chevy truck, and all I could do is giggle to myself.  I walked up to the back door (yay me for winning the backseat lottery this morning) and the step, THE STEP, was at my waist.  I tossed my crap in the back, grabbed the floor, and climbed my short ass all up in that thang.  It couldn't have been pretty to watch.  If I would've been wearing a skirt, I would've had to hike that thing up to my waist to pull that off.  To make this trip even more exciting, this very intimidating looking dude, who looks like he eats babies and puppies for breakfast, was listening to dance music at club volume.  Really?  I was expecting country or heavy metal.  I was not expecting to have to listen to songs about shots, shots, shots, shots and something about booty shaking in this guy's truck.  I can't tolerate that crap unless I have a drink in my hand and at least the possibility of a good roofie to help me forget.  But it was fortuitous because I was bouncing the whole damn way to work.

Apparently, this guy--and many others like him--thinks that lifting a pickup truck 500' in the air is a super awesome idea.  I'm sure it comes in handy when you're off-roading down 95.  It would only be useful if he was going to actually drive OVER traffic, but I didn't see any evidence that he was willing to do so.  One thing about lifted trucks is that those giant ass tires feel every pebble on the road and bounce the truck all over the damn place.  Only the soccer ball in the floorboard was bouncing more than my ta-tas.  I think at one point we hit an actual bump in the road and my ass lifted off the seat and my girls bounced in 2 different directions.  I'll probably have to go to a doctor to get my spine realigned and buy a special orthopedic bra to get my lady lumps pointing back in the right direction.  He also had a persistent rattle coming from somewhere in the backseat, which is like nails on a chalkboard to me--especially at 5:30 in the morning.  I'm surprised every screw in the truck hasn't been bounced out yet, but OMG, how can you not hear that and NEED to fix it right away.  I go mental if I hear a rock in my tire. 

No chance in hell of an actual nap this morning.  All I could think was that I just want to fade out of consciousness to the sound of Kanye's untalented voice and wake up at work wondering why my body hurts. 

Whore in Church

I'm a good person.  I am.  I might have a warped sense of humor, a bit of a potty mouth, and a general desire to enjoy life, but all in all, I'm a good person.  I don't cheat, lie, steal, neglect my child or work, and I don't intentionally harm others (although I imagine it in my head often).  I might have a list of things to confess at some point, but none of it makes me truly evil.  This morning's ride made me feel like a bad person.

I got into this woman's car this morning and instantly felt out of place and judged.  She was a middle-aged woman with a cross around her neck and at least 5 other crosses strategically placed around her car.  I'm not sure if she was trying to protect herself from Vampire Sluggers, but at that moment, I was grateful I never fulfilled my childhood fantasy of a blood-thirsty immortality.  The crosses didn't really bother me so much as the judgmental look on her face when I climbed in the front seat (yes I got screwed on the seat selection again).  I guess she didn't like my leopard print dress that I'm wearing today.  Maybe that's too "racy" for her puritan taste.  Her judgmental look then transitioned to her changing the radio station from generic news radio to some sort of gospel/evangelism station.  I felt like this was intentional.

I was too uncomfortable to sleep, for fear that she might try to brand me with a cross on the side of my face, so I just stared blankly out the window keeping her firmly in my peripheral vision. The gospel song that was playing ended, and some guy started talking about God and being a good person and how evil the world is, and I noticed out of the corner of my eye that she kept glancing at me.  Seriously?  Who died and made you the judge of me?  This felt personal, but I was going to give her the benefit of the doubt----since I'm a good person and all.  Maybe it was the short, balding guy in the backseat who looks like he should be on a sex offender registry that she didn't like....

Another gospel song came on, which pretty much sounded just like the first one, and she started singing along quietly right until the line of "save yourself from sin" was repeated.  That line she really BELTED out.  Hmmmmm, perhaps she's trying to subtly tell me something?  I'd had enough of this crap.  I've heard enough stories of her type trying to save "fallen women" from their evil ways to know that I just had to embrace her perception of me and roll with it.  Then I started to think--I'll give you something to judge lady.....

I considered all kinds of options.  I thought maybe I could surf some porn on my phone for her to see.  I thought maybe I could make a fake phone call to a pimp to arrange for tonight's John.  I thought maybe I could dig through my purse and exclaim "damn!  I left my meth at home on the kitchen counter!"  None of it felt right.  You know why?  Because I'm a good person.

So I stared straight ahead, like any good whore in church would, and let her searing judgmental, God-fearing stares burn the side of my face until I got to work.

I got out of the car, letting my dress ride up a little too high, and thanked her for the ride.  Peace be with you bitch.

Like a Virgin

With the new HOT lanes that are tolled 24/7, more drivers have been forced to either pay BIG money to commute alone or to pick up slugs.  This, of course, benefits us sluggers, and we aren't complaining.  The days of standing in line for 20-40 minutes waiting for a ride appear to be gone for the most part.  Some days I get out of my car and jump directly into someone else's.  While my overall commute has not entirely improved, it has gotten better on the whole.   HOWEVER there is one major drawback:  VIRGINS.

Slug virgins are an unpredictable bunch.  Much like the first time you have sexual relations, it can be a really good or really bad experience.  If you are lucky, you get the driver who is only slightly awkward and only needs to fumble around for a minute before reaching a steady, comfortable pace.  He knows enough that he only asks a few questions and needs a little reassurance that he's in the right place, and off he goes.  I equate this slug virgin to the guy who watched a lot of porn and just needed some hands-on experience.  If you are unlucky, as I usually am, you get the unforgettable guy who violates all etiquette and clumsily gets you to the end feeling like you never want to do it again.  He's also the guy who finishes and practically high-fives himself like he's just accomplished something that deserves a trophy.  This is the guy you are pretty sure will never really improve with experience, and every time you see him after that, you act like you don't know him and walk in a different direction.   He's the tragic virgin that just removed an option from the table.  One less ride you will take. 

Because I've been doing this forever, I can pretty much get through any awkward circumstance with some coping mechanisms.  My number one technique is the slug nap, or at the very least, pretending to be asleep to avoid him trying to talk to me.  If you are unlucky enough to get in the front seat with a tragic virgin, do the bare minimum to ensure you will at least get to your appointed destination, and then you sleep.  You wake up when it's over and you don't have the memories to ruin the next time.

Let It Goat

When you fall into a deep sleep, you lose a certain level of control.  It's just a fact of life.  When slugging, most people sleep, because why not.  Over the years, I've experienced my fellow sluggers snoring LOUDLY, farting, mumbling in their sleep, twitching uncontrollably, and many other things.  As a slugging veteran, this kind of thing usually just makes me snicker.  When I take my daily slug naps, I'm typically only partially asleep and am mostly aware of what's going on in the car and have complete control of myself.  However, I stayed up a little too late and woke up feeling like a zombie, so my slug nap this morning was more like a temporary coma.  I basically remember getting into the car and putting on my seat belt.  After that, mmmmmmmmm, nothing.

I don't know if I was dreaming or if I was so close to death that my body just gave up, but somewhere close to me reaching my destination, I moaned--that's the closest word I can come up with.  This was not a cute little moan that would've made my fellow sluggers smirk or chuckle.  This moan sounded more like a cross between a moan, a scream for help, and me trying to speak in tongues.  I opened my eyes to realize that my head was flopped over, I was hanging by the seat belt, and yes, there was drool.  After that unfortunate farting incident when I was in school, I learned that when you wake yourself up by making loud noises, you just freeze and don't make any sudden movements.  This allows you to avoid the immediate fallout of the reactions by plausibly still being asleep. 

I had my sunglasses on, so I was able to open my eyes enough to see that I had scared the living shit out of the driver and the front seat passenger.  I think the driver was getting ready to pull over and call 911 to have the dead body removed from his back seat.  Once it was obvious to everyone that I was, indeed, alive and well, they calmed back down.  Luckily, it happened so close to my drop off that I didn't have to endure this awkwardness for long.  We pulled up, and I got out as if nothing ever happened, politely thanking the driver and wishing both a beautiful day.  We are all professionals here.  No need to bring it up fellas.  Just let it go.

While I'm sure what they heard was dramatic, in my head, as far as I can recollect, it sounded like this:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cxIkqbRR59s

Spies Like Us

I hate nosy people, especially strangers.  I don't trust them.  There are certain "social norms" of conversation with strangers that you just don't violate, and someone who does makes me suspicious, especially at 5AM.

I got a ride from an innocuous looking man in his mid-50s (I'd guess), and I had the pleasure of getting the back seat.  Dude in the front seat is clearly military and not the most comfortable with strangers asking prying questions either.

Dude driver, from now on known as PJ (Philip Jennings--male spy from The Americans), didn't even wait until we got out of the lot to start talking.  And by talking, I mean TALKING AT A REALLY LOUD VOLUME.  I can only assume so his surveillance device can pick up the voices.  He immediately stated to Front Seat Dude (FSD) that he's seen him before, but he was in the backseat last time.    He asks FSD what he does for a living.  FSD hesitates and tries to dodge the question.  PJ asks again.  FSD gives him an answer, and that was just about the worst thing he could've done.  It turned into 20 questions at that point, and FSD was stuck.  He politely gave short, but I'm assuming honest, answers, but tried to stop the interrogation.  I'm in the backseat with my eyes closed, pretending to sleep, but that didn't stop PJ from asking me what I do.  I ignored.  He asked again, only louder.  I very quietly answered "travel agent," thinking this is bland enough to have him gloss right over me.  But noooooooo.  He started asking for whom and where.  I tried to ignore again, but this guy was balls to the wall.  I decided to let my allergies take over the conversation, and I started coughing uncontrollably.  I did this long enough for him to switch his focus back on FSD.  

He then started digging into FSD's entire work history.  This was getting out of hand.  This is Spy 101.  This guy has an agenda.  It's not only annoying and inappropriate, but it's interfering with my morning Slug Nap.  The Slug Nap is sacred, and I just can't let this continue.  So I gave it back to him.  20 questions, some were repeated in different ways to see if he had his own story straight.  I started asking really probing questions about how much he makes and what benefits his company offers.  I asked him what the address was to his office, and what his work hours were.  For the most part, he started to dodge.  Hmmmm, was I getting too personal?  Was he uncomfortable with my line of questioning?  Too bad!  Maybe he will get the point. 

We start to approach our appointed drop-off location, and I noticed he was trying to come up with some sort of closing line of questioning.  He asked FSD if he ever worked with So-and-so, an old officer friend of his.  Rookie.  Luckily, FSD just said no and left it at that.  Good job buddy.

We arrived and disembarked the vehicle, exchanging "wtf" glances at each other.  He laughed and said "nice how you turned it around on him."

I just responded with "'Merica!" and I laughed and walked away.  Not today PJ.  Not today.

The Penguin v Batman

There is a man in my slug line whom we all refer to as The Penguin.  It's not necessarily a knock on his appearance, but it's a conveniently accurate comparison.  He's about 5'2" and 3' wide, in his (I'm guessing) 50s, and waddles like The Penguin when he walks.  But that's not why he stands out.  He stands out because he's annoying as HELL. 

Anyone who knows me knows that I'm not a morning person, and my tolerance is fairly low for other people before I've been up for quite a few hours.  I also have extreme sensitivity to unusual and/or repetitive noises.  So this guy really gets under my skin for a lot of reasons.  He is my commuting nemesis. 

He waddles up and down the line at 5AM talking to his "friends" at ridiculously inappropriate volumes about mind-numbingly boring crap that nobody wants to hear.  Because the line moves fairly frequently as drivers rescue us pathetic slugs from him, he has to repeatedly waddle back to his spot to move his bag that is holding his place in line.  On top of that, if you end up having to ride with him, his annoyance factor multiplies by a million.  He inhales and exhales very loudly with great exaggeration, he mumbles under his breath (unless you get really lucky and he knows the driver well enough to talk the whole damn way), and he does this really really really really annoying thing where he rubs his hands back and forth on his legs, making it sound like he's masturbating (sometimes I wonder if he is, but the fear of seeing that and never unseeing it keeps me from looking). 

The first thing I do when I arrive at the lot is do a quick Penguin scan.  I have to identify where he is in line and try to avoid riding with him.  His annoyance factor is enough to ruin my entire day.  So when I do see him and determine that I could be standing next to him in line, I will linger in my car, walk really really slowly, set fires, whatever it takes to avoid him.

Today, despite my best attempts, I couldn't avoid it.  I was trapped with him, and by the time I got to work, I was almost catatonic from trying to tune him out.  The only thing that kept me somewhat lucid was replaying this in my head:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1byycwl8qgc

Shhhh, not so loud.  You'll wake him.

Don't Call It a Comeback!

I've been here for years.  (Yes, I just quoted LL Cool J)   Don't Call It a Comeback!

I had switched jobs that changed my slugging status to driver for a while, and the stories just weren't interesting enough to write.  But I've switched jobs again and have started slugging again.  By request, I'm going to relaunch this blog.  Everyone calm yourselves.  I know you are excited, but you have to let me get my rhythm back!

With the new HOT lanes on 95, there's an influx of new drivers who are clueless to slugging etiquette and norms.  The material endlessly writes itself.  So no worries.  I will be up and active ASAP!