Slugging Confessional

I think I have to change my name and give myself an unofficial PhD. I appear to attract people who want to confess some of their darkest deeds and deepest secrets, and I don't even know them. I can't help but picture some of the episodes of that horrible, but captivating HBO special "Taxicab Confessions." If you haven't seen it, it's basically people acting badly in taxicabs and the driver egging them on. Usually you see and hear some pretty strange stuff.

When you think of slugging in DC, you can pretty much assume a generally affluent, educated commuter joining the throngs of other affluent, educated commuters to form a relatively boring crowd of affluent, educated robots marching into DC to fire up their Dell desktop computers in their cubicles. At least that is what I used to think until some of these folks started sharing some of the darker aspects of their personalities. It's amazing what people will blurt out in an hour long ride to work with strangers!!!

To be fair, I've become friends with some of these people. I will not go into some of the sordid details of their lives out of respect. But the anonymous ones who choose to air their dirty laundry to a stranger, I won't really feel so bad about summarizing those.

I actually think it started with the Pope's visit. It seemed like once he landed in the U.S. everyone became a Catholic to some degree. People were feeling the need to just make their sins public. I don't recall anyone asking for forgiveness, but sometimes just saying it out loud can be an act of contrition and repentance all on its own.

Over the last few weeks, I've heard about random sluggers' adulterous affairs, cheating spouses, illegitimate children, money problems, drinking problems, sexual dysfunction (my personal favorite), extended family disputes, property disputes, disrespectful children, wedding plans, divorce plans, travel plans, and career plans. Most of this falls into the popular category of "WTMI" (for those not in with the cool kids, that's "way too much information").

I don't consider myself nosy, nor do I consider myself a gossiper. But this slugging experience has started to intrigue me. I'm always wondering what people will tell me, just how personal they will get. Maybe it's just my nature, but unless I know you and trust you, I don't just vomit my personal problems all over people. Perhaps these people haven't figured out that they will see the same faces again and again. Perhaps they don't care. It bothers me to know that someone I hardly know knows my personal business, out of context, and is probably judging me. I know. You are asking yourself right now if I'm judging these folks.

ABSOLUTELY!!! :)

Nah, not really judging them so much as using them to form a larger picture of life against which I can compare my own.

In some cases, I feel better about myself and my life based on what I hear. In some cases, I hear about something someone is going through, and I feel somewhat pessimistic about my experiences. In others all together, I feel sympathetic or empathetic, and I try to offer advice or understanding because I have been there or done that.

Overall, I've noticed that it happens more when I drive. I think it's because people know you are watching the road and won't make eye contact with them. It usually happens in those earliest moments before the sun comes up. In fact, it seems that the talking slows or stops as the sun comes up. It happens most often with people who know you just enough to recognize your face or car, but there is rarely a name exchange. The conversation nearly always ends with a farewell wish for the best and an empty promise that everything will be OK.

If you've ever been to confession, you are seeing the spooky comparisons here right?

I guess you could say that this is basically supporting proof for the soul-cleansing experience of confession, no matter how you do it. Sometimes our burdens can become too heavy, and we need to know that someone else out there will carry them for us. Another common thread with these people is that they all seem to be missing that one person to whom they can go to be completely honest and open. They live lives that require them to lean on someone, anyone for at least a few minutes even at the expense of their pride or reputation.

As Oscar Wilde once wrote, "it is the confession, not the priest, that gives us absolution." So, those who don't seek priests or don't believe in the formal act of confession seek therapists or friends. In Washington DC, they seek a fellow slugger.

Dr. Jill
Hours: 6-7am and 3-4 pm, by appointment only as seats are limited.

(remember, I'm changing my name and giving myself a PhD)

Why Working in DC Only Sucks Most of the Time

Ahhh, Washington, DC, the seat of the national government. What isn't there to love? On any given day, amidst the beautiful landscape of monuments and museums, you can find protesters, politicians, street hustlers (also see politicians), and oceans of robotic government workers (see those of us who work for said politicians and street hustlers). Finishing out that beautiful picture are hundreds of thousands of cars pouring into the city at the same exact moment creating a beautiful collage of colors and textures. There are some days that are more lovely than others. Right now, the sun is shining, the temperature is mild, flowers are blooming, and the freaks are out in full force.

The Pope is in town, and every wacko known to man is either here to see him or to protest him. Only in DC can you find love and hate all in the same place. When you have a buffet of political causes and world renowned leaders to choose from , you can even turn your love and/or hate for any topic into a full time job. Because this is a monumentally historic moment, security has to be beefed up drastically. Roads have to be closed. Buildings have to be closed off and used as spotter locations. Metro service has to be increased, and parking fees have to quadruple. So for those of us with REAL full time jobs, monumentally historic moments like the Pope's visit became monumental pains in the ass. (Yes, I'm Catholic.)

I just so happen to work close enough to the beautiful new Washington Nationals Stadium where Pope Benedict XVI will say Mass tomorrow that life has the potential to really suck for a while. Today, he's traveling across town to visit the President, etc etc. He's conducting Pope business. Meanwhile, the lowly minions serving the great and valueless dollar must figure out ways to get to work around various road closures, blockades and checkpoints.

Yesterday, just as I was leaving work, the Pope was landing in our beautiful capital, and the city was vibrating with ringing church bells and squealing sirens. Traffic, at rush hour, was stopped or diverted from the busiest roads known to man.

In case I haven't mentioned it, also mixed in with the politicians, protesters, street hustlers, government minions, and general freaks you can find a very large, unwanted selection of media representatives. Everyone from ABC, NBC, CBS, FOX, CNN, CSPAN, FOXNEWS, Discovery Channel, Telemundo, Disney, Wayne's World, whatever, has cameras set up and rolling in my direct line of commuting. Every other media wonk is standing around flashing a press badge hoping to hear or see something that will win him or her the coveted "who gives a shit" prize for writing something completely useless.

Tomorrow will be worse. Oh so much worse. Bridges and roads in and around the city are going to close starting at 5AM. They are expecting at LEAST 500,000 people to be wandering the streets near the stadium hoping for a Pontiff glimpse. This is on top of the 50,000 attendees inside the stadium. Oh and yes, just as DC rush hour begins, the transit system will flash us all a very large middle finger and wish us a good day.

But here is why working in DC only sucks most of the time.

I'm working from home tomorrow! :)

For the rest of you unlucky bastards, ENJOY! Just remember, I sat for 7 hours on I95 for no reason. The cosmos owe me one!

Moving in slow motion

OK, enough bitching about my not updating my blog since I got back from vacation! :)

You know how it is. You come back from vacation, and you need a few weeks to readjust your attitude. I've simply been struggling to remember why I came back to work at all! But I'm back, and so are the stories.

Have you ever had those days when it feels like you are moving in slow motion all the time?? Today is one of those days for me. I can't really figure out why, but I know it's progressing at an alarming pace. Maybe it's because I'm so doped up on allergy medication in celebration of the blooming of spring, or maybe it's because I'm still not sure why I'm still here. Either way, today, my life is moving in slow motion, and I'm on the outside watching it all happen.

I arrived at the lot, late, because nobody would cooperate this morning. I had an overly tired child, and I was overly groggy myself. One of my dogs decided that she would take a break from her normal in and out morning routine to conduct a thorough inspection of every blade of grass within an acre of my house. Normally this would make me somewhat stressed and agitated. Instead, I was just standing there watching it all happening and thinking to myself "this sucks." That's the best I could come up with!

So I finally arrived at the lot, and there are people in the line who instantly recognized me. So they stepped out of line to jump into my car before I fully pulled up. Unfortunately, at the same time, I noticed a man at the front of the line who was also going to my destination. Alas, it was too late to stop them from jumping rank, and I sat and watched this guy's face curl up in anger...in slow motion. I did the "I'm not looking in your direction" departure, avoiding all eye contact or recognition. What could I do? I just didn't have a fast enough reaction time to stop the violation!

Much to my disappointment, one of those people line jumping is the most talkative person on the planet. This is not hyperbole my friends. This person will make you wish you were deaf. And s/he talks about absolutely nothing I could possibly care about even under threat of waterboarding. I drove in with these lips flapping in my ear 1000 miles an hour, but all I could hear was the Charlie Brown teacher voice. "mwah mwah mmmwah wah" over and over again. Since I had no clue what s/he was saying or why, I basically just nodded my head in agreement. I could have been agreeing to drive him/her to work for life, and I wouldn't have known any better. It was as if I had lost complete control of my brain, and my brain was checking out.

Even now, I'm sitting here typing this, and I think it's taken me an hour. I could be wrong. It could be 10 minutes. But right now, everything is moving so slowly that I just can't tell the difference.

So tomorrow when I show up to slug to work, there will be an angry man gunning for me, a talkative person waiting to give me updates on something I have no background on, and possibly a missing dog howling at me. I hope my reflexes can catch up.

For now, I'm going for Round 2 of the caffeine war.

Smellapalooza

One thing I've learned is that you get exposed to all kinds of people when you slug to work. You meet some really wonderful, friendly, helpful people who shower, and you meet some really nasty people with bad attitudes or smelly bodies. Lucky for me, I won the stink lottery this morning.

It's the Friday before my vacation, and I'm leaving early today. For my reward, I get to the lot ready to drive my fellow commuters to work, and I find that nobody is there. So I wait....and wait...and wait. A few people begin to straggle in, and I decide to call out multiple destinations until I get lucky. My second destination call proves to be lucky with one man as he climbs into the front seat. He's the kind of guy who likes to exercise before work, which means he does his workout when he gets there and THEN he showers. It appears he also likes to work out at night because he smelled like a moldy gym bag full of sweaty jock straps. I'm thinking to myself "great, he wants to sit up front with me."

Then another gentleman wanders up and takes me up on my offer. He climbs in the backseat, and his smell actually outpowered Mr. Clean up front. Coming from the backseat, you KNOW that he smelled bad, but this was a uniquely bad smell. He smelled like a dirty hamster cage. Those of you who had hamsters as a kid know what I mean. It's a sort of pissy cedar chip smell mixed with sweaty fur and rat poop. You know, the point that your cage reached when your parents didn't have to tell you to clean out the cage because even you couldn't take it anymore. Yes, that was him in all his non-seatbelt wearing glory. I'm hoping his smell doesn't stick to the babyseat!

I know it's Friday, and I know lots of folks are going on vacation after today (ME INCLUDED), but SERIOUSLY, can you not shower before going to work? I understand the desire to stay in bed a little later on Friday mornings. I get that completely. But power-showers are worth the effort. In fact, Al Gore says short showers will stop global warming (probably because your noxious dirty body fumes aren't depleting the ozone layer?). Either way, do your part to contribute to the health of all current and future generations by showering and applying a generous amount of deodorant--stick or aerosol are fine with me.

But before I conclude for the next beautiful week, I must ask the one question that may never receive an answer.

How does a grown man come to smell like a hamster cage?

Talkin' about Revolution

Sometimes I feel like I'm in the spin-cycle of WTF. (Yes, we all know what that means, and I spelling it out would be inappropriate. You can say it out loud in your own head, but then who would be the potty mouth?) :) There are days when everywhere I look I discover something that makes me ask the quasi-rhetorical question of "WTF?" But I digress.....

There is a woman who frequents our little slug line, and she is either campaigning to be "Ruler of the Free World," "Captain of the Safety Patrol," or "Supreme Line Leader." I'm thinking she'll take any of the above positions should they be offered to her.

Unfortunately for us all, she goes to one of those locations that doesn't get a lot of traffic, so she's generally in line for a long time. And she screws up EVERYTHING!!!! In some cases, her "input" has almost gotten people steamrolled by confused drivers.

Recently, I arrived on the Grey Mile, and she was positioned roughly in the upper-middle part of the line. She has the ability to make her voice carry long distances, much to the despair of my one remaining good ear, and she likes to call out the drivers' requests. She gets so carried away that she starts to call them out incorrectly, especially when the cars start to stack up. For example, someone will pull up and call out "Pentagon." She will yell out "Pentagon" and if nobody responds before the next car pulls up and calls out "L'Enfant" she will start to get confused. I don't know if she's ADHD or just not capable of multitasking, but she starts to confuse the locations. The results are people wandering up to cars they shouldn't be getting into and then jumping back out when they realize they are in the wrong car. In the meantime, someone behind that person has taken their ride from them because they were lucky enough to figure it out first. People are hopping in and out of line, and it's TOTAL mass confusion. At one point, she was pointing people to cars and telling them to hurry up. She's yelling at other cars to move up as people are crossing in front of them. For SOME reason, our line is predominantly populated by lemmings because they are blindly following this lady's "directions."

I am going to run with the theory that she was either denied a position in the safety patrol in elementary school or she lost several elections for class president in high school.

Lucky for me, I'm developing my own little reliable "clique" of riders and drivers, and we all look out for each other. We basically use hand signals and codes to coordinate our ride sequence. I, former safety patrol member and elected student government official, have created a well-oiled process for moving riders and drivers through our line for our particular destination without the input of this disorganized scatter-brain. We all sort of giggle when she tries to intervene. Everyone else can have her.

Right now, our little sluglot runs itself without official governance. As our Founding Fathers reminded us, bad government is not a viable alternative to anarchy. Right now, our lot is facing anarchy as a result of bad government. Madame Line Leader, may I suggest you back off and mind your business before you face a revolution you can't handle!

Viva la sluglot!

Keep on Truckin'

I’ve been taking a bit of a break from blogging to try to regain some focus. I have had people tell me that I should focus more on the “positives” of slugging. I’ve been mulling that thought over for quite some time, and I have basically concluded that I’m one of those people that perform better when complaining. In the spirit of optimism, I’m going to attempt a positive entry; however, not right now.

First, I have to complain. I have so many after all these weeks that I don’t even know where to start! OK, yes I do!

I’m going to start with the obnoxious, completely oblivious, self-centered big-truck drivers. Parking in a commuter lot is at a premium in some places. I happen to be in one of those places. I arrive at the same time, give or take a minute or two, every morning. On some mornings, parking is plentiful. On more mornings than I care to remember, I end up driving because the lot is full. But on most mornings, I’m squealing into the last available space. This morning was no exception, but the problem is that when the person parked in front of me leaves to go home he’s going to be towing my car. Let me explain.

There is a phenomenon here in the United States. Despite the high gas prices and the lack of necessity, we have a large population of people, particularly men, who like to drive gigantic, enormous trucks. I believe, but I could be wrong, that these trucks were invented for the “working man” to haul his various work supplies. There are all kinds of justifiable reasons for owning a large pickup truck. Construction, landscaping, repair work, etc, etc, etc. HOWEVER, if your big ass truck is parked in a commuter lot, odds are pretty good that you don’t need it to do your job. I’m guessing the main reason it’s parked there is because it uses up 50 gallons of gas a minute, and you can’t afford to drive to work in it. So, since we’ve established that you are an idiot, I can move on to why you are also a jerk.

I personally do not care what a person drives. I’m not an environmentalist. I believe global warming is a good thing. Bring on the warm weather! I don’t slug to save the environment. I slug because it gets me to work faster, and I can nap. I DO care when your vehicle invades my precious space. There are at least THREE trucks that are REPEAT OFFENDERS, daily, on this particular topic. One guy pulls into his space with his enormous truck, and he always parks over the line. So basically, unless you drive a mini cooper, you can’t fit a car into that space. In most cases, that’s a wasted space. Not for me, though. Today, it was the last space. Let’s just say that my car is hitching a ride home today because my front bumper is on top of his hitch ball. I’m not ashamed to admit it. I did it intentionally. I hope when he pulls off he damages my vehicle because I wrote down his license plate number. There is another guy who does a similar thing but he can’t really help it because his truck is SO long that he can’t park in just one space. I’m thinking that if you need a truck that large for daily life, you probably shouldn’t be working in Washington DC. To add insult to injury, he actually back-parks into the space!!! So, many times, I’m pulling into the lot and I have to wait for 5 minutes while he maneuvers his 18-wheeler into 2 parking spaces. I’ve parked on top of him before as well. But the back-parking! UUUUUUUUUUUUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! Why do you men feel the need to prove your "manliness" by demonstrating to the world that you can drive not only forward, but backward as well. It's like a genetic programming that evolved out of the frustration of the horseback riders who couldn't get their horse to go in reverse. I don't really see how parking your car backwards makes you more of a man. I can parallel park. Does that make me bisexual?

The arrogance of these truck drivers makes me mental! They simply don’t care that they are screwing someone out of the opportunity to commute to work because they feel the need to own a monster truck.

To end my little rant, I must address the ignorant ass who thinks that the commuter lot is a used car lot and parks and LEAVES his car there with signs all over it. I can assure you that NOBODY in that lot is looking at your broken down, beat up piece of junk that is taking a permanent parking space and thinking “hmmm, let me buy that.” So, MOVE IT. Unless you are paying for that spot, and you aren’t, you need to move that crap NOW. The next time I have to drive because there isn’t any parking left, I’m going to buy some window paint and paint “TOW ME” all over the windows!

I don’t know about you, but these little complaints are cathartic. That which I cannot change makes me angrier. And I deal with it by writing about it.

For the record, I’ve made lots of friends by slugging. There are people I commute with nearly everyday, and I have come to really like them. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop complaining!

So, if you are a regular reader, feel free to weigh in. Want me to tell more of the positive stories? I have to warn you that I have to leave a lot of details out because of the need for anonymity, so there aren't going to be as many "nice stories." I'd love to hear from you! :)

Choice or Fate?

I found myself pondering one of those "life questions" on my ride to work today. It was bizarre how it happened, and the question itself might seem a little odd to you. Stick with me for a minute and see if you end up making the same observation I did.

I got into my ride this morning, and I immediately settled into the cold leather backseat (I practically had to knock the guy down who was in line behind me and was trying to steal my coveted backseat approach). Anyway, with it being a Monday morning, I settled myself into what I assumed would be a quiet uneventful ride that would give me the benefit of quiet commuter slumber. For the most part it was. I dozed in and out of consciousness, repeatedly stirred awake by the oscillating volume levels of the local news station. I couldn't understand why this guy needed to turn his radio up so loud, and I was a little fuzzy when I would open my eyes to see what was going on.

It was in the semi-awake state of mind that I made an odd observation. The guy driving this car looked like his car.

NO, really, I'm not doing drugs. That fuzzy state was completely sleep-induced.

Let me explain. I won't tell you the exact details of this guy's car because I have to maintain a certain amount of anonymity, so forgive me if I take creative license to make my point.

The man driving was older, roughly late 50s. His hair was about 90% grey. His face was sort of boxy and showed his age relatively clearly. He seemed sturdy and reserved, and he was quietly classy. He's not the splashy type. I don't see him going out to pierce his ear, buy a Corvette, and start picking up young women half his age. He seemed more like the type that has been married for 25+ years, has kids and probably grandkids, and loves his life just the way it is. He seems like the type who would be loyal to the very end. I got the sense that he likes to live a comfortable life but nothing too extravagent. His car suited him. I just can't describe it any better than this. He LOOKED like his car. It was as if he and his car found each other.

His hair blended into the pale grey leather seats. His car was new, well-maintained, clean, but it was not flashy. It was a sturdy car that is American-made but has a slightly more luxurious appearance. It sort of resembles a very high-dollar classic luxury vehicle, but it's clearly not too expensive. The car has all the basic comforts of a higher-end vehicle, but it's not over the top. The car seemed like the kind that would run for a long time as long as it's maintained well. The body style, particularly in the front, was boxy and reserved.

I've always looked at cars from the perspective that they provide transportation. I have owned a luxury vehicle, but even that was not at the top end (or even lower middle) of the class. I try to buy based on utility first, then I move to appearance. But I look back over the years at all the cars I have owned, and I ask myself "did I look like my cars?" What a depressing thought! The first car I ever bought was right after high school. It was a white, 2 door Geo Metro (if anyone laughs at any of this, you will be cursed with high gas prices for eternity). It was compact, dependable, plain, and it had a little bubble butt. So far, things are lining up.

My next car was an "upgrade" to my 2 door Geo Metro, the 4 door. It was dark blue (what was I thinking) and still had a bubbly behind. Like me, the car was expanding and could fit a little more junk in the trunk. It was a little more colorful, but soon it's distinct color annoyed me. I was still discovering myself, but I stuck with that car for a whole lot of years. That car gave me virtually zero problems. I only had to do basic maintainence on it, and I never had any major mechanical failures. It was still running like a champ when I sold it to the nearest CarMax. I almost felt guilty selling it after being so reliable all those years, but I was trading up to a more luxurious car.

At this point, I had finished college and landed a really good job. I was "moving up" in the world, or so I thought, so I decided to reward myself with an affordable extravagent expense. It was an indulgence, but I LOVED driving that car. It was a two-door, and it purred like a panther getting its belly rubbed (especially at high speeds---or so I hear). The seats seemed to mold to my body, and the overall look of the car suited me just fine. It was a little sporty, but still with a classic overall appearance. It had a bit of a bubble butt as well (anyone noticing a trend here?), but it was a great car. At this point, I made the declaration that I will only own black cars. When they are cleaned and polished, nothing can compare. Black is classic and always holds up. It never goes out of style, leaving you with a car that you get sick of looking at everytime you get in. That car was kick-ass, and that's at least how I felt for a while.

About a year or so after I bought my little kick-ass car, I got pregnant. I instantly knew that my vehicular love-affair was going to have to end, because it doesn't make sense to have a baby in a two-door sports car. OR DOES IT? I somehow managed to manipulate me and my baby in and out of the backseat of that car for a couple of years before I finally gave up. I kept telling myself that the car was safer than most other options on the road, even if it was a two-door. But I eventually caved in and bought an SUV.

My current SUV, more of a mini-SUV--NOT A MINIVAN--, is of course black. It's sturdy, reliable, and utilitarian. There's nothing flashy about it. It has only the basic options, and it's relatively plain and does its job. It does have a big trunk to accommodate my various child-transporting needs (the trend continues). I think it fits who I am right now in my life.

So upon reflection, I really do think that our cars are a reflection of who we are. What does that say about the insane number of Toyotas and various types of SUVs on the road? I think it's entirely possible that our cars tend to match our personalities at the time we purchase them. In some rare cases, the cars match our physical appearance as well. In those cases, I believe the car-driver relationship is more one of fate and not choice.

The next time you are driving, preferably riding, take a look at the people driving the cars around you. Do you see a connection?

What do you think? Do we choose our cars or do they choose us?