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!

A Cautionary Tale

No, I haven't been mangled by a wreck on I-95 (hopefully never will), nor have I given up the DC commute for the simple life (I wish). I'm still here, but very little happens these days that could be blog worthy. I've settled into a decent routine that doesn't involve a whole lot of interesting stories. But now I have one that is absolutely worth coming back for!

Here goes (Warning, this posting may offend the particularly chaste):

I jumped into the backseat of a dark, mid-sized SUV for my ride into work. I didn't recognize this woman and had to ask if she was, indeed, going to my destination. She confirmed, and off we went.

As usual, I settled in for my quick nap with my excess baggage on the floor at my feet. I closed my eyes and dreamed of happier places and happier times. As if an internal alarm were set, I woke up 2 blocks from my office building and began to gather up my bags and gloves. It was at this point that I noticed something out of the ordinary in the dark floorboard behind the driver's seat.

The sun was not yet up, as I am required to be at work before the dead are required to awaken, and it was hard to tell what I was seeing at first. I turned to look more closely, squinting my eyes to better make out the figure in the floor. It was bright, bright fluorescent orange. The kind of orange you'd find in a roadside safety kit. After further inspection, I realized that this object did not fall loose from a roadside safety kit. At least no roadside safety kit that I've ever seen available for purchase.

There in the floor behind the driver's seat sat a bright orange, black-tipped, vibrator.

Whatever her emergency needs may be, at least she was being safety conscious. Now I have to go home and burn my winter coat, gloves, handbag, and carry-all bag before immersing myself in a boiling hot vat of acid.

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.