The fuzz stole my sunglasses.
Well, they stole my car's sunglasses. I had bought my zoom-zooming Mazda 6s a few years ago as a used car that had been turned in by a lease holder. It was a rainy day, really not the best to be car shopping, but the car really caught my eye. Bright white with dark as night tinted windows. I remember thinking that they couldn't possibly be legal, but I honestly didn't care. The car was sexy and I wanted it. Up until 2 months ago, not a word was said (from anyone with a badge, anyway) about those windows.
As most stories like this go, the police eventually called me out on them. I blame the economy and their need for a quick and easy buck. The officer carefully strutted up to my driver's side window with his hand on his gun and the flashlight in my eyes. "Sorry, I can't tell if there's anyone else in there." I could already tell where this was going. He checked the tint level with a little electronic device that measured how much light would transmit through the glass. He told me they were "13," which was always my lucky number, and thus horrendously illegal. However, he said that if I removed them, I could easily get the ticket thrown out in court. Begrudgingly, I removed them myself and now have to deal with this new sensation I'm experiencing.
I feel so naked. I mean, I'm not a highway mastubator or compulsive nose picker, but I feel like all of my in-car privacy has been stripped away. People look at me now. That's the really big part of it. People would look before but I could tell that they were just trying to see what was inside, but to no avail. Now, they look at me and it's so strange to look to my side in rush hour traffic and meet the gaze of some person staring right back at me. I've lost my on-road anonymity and I don't like it. It's much more disturbing than I thought it would be. My first car didn't have tinted windows at all, so I thought nothing of it when people would look. But having driven a car that offers complete and utter privacy for three years and then losing that, it just feels strange to have this exposure. I also want to note that this is not some vain narcissism, an "Oh! Everyone is looking at me!" type of thing. People look at you when you drive. Not all the time, but enough that it gets awkward in slow rush hour traffic.
The sun, too. Jesus! When did the sun get so bright? When I lowered myself into the driver's seat and shut the door on the clearest blue day in the middle of summer, it was as if I had entered a 220hp cave with satelite radio. It was comfortably dim. I still wore sunglasses, but only when facing directly into the light. Otherwise, they were unnecessary until I ventured out into the world again. Now, I have to wear my sunglasses when it's a bright cloudy day. If I don't, I squint worse than Mr. Magoo.
I have to say that the only benefit I've experienced so far is that I can see better out of my side windows at night. Nighttime walkers and bikers, rest easy for now, for I can see you better than I ever have. Just a reminder, though, I'm getting the darkest legal tints that money can buy as soon as I can get an appointment to do so. So don't throw away those flashy reflectors yet. You'll need them.
Friday, May 8, 2009
Friday, May 1, 2009
Friday
Click. Click, Click. Click. Click.
I used to do it with a nod of my head, but I realized that people would notice and question my odd behavior. Plus, I was always a bit too slow and the lag time left me...unsatisfied.
Click, Click. Click.
For nearly every prominent tree I pass (saplings and tightly grouped ones don't count), I'll give it one "click" between my top and bottom front tooth. If the tree is on the left, the left teeth click. The right-side front teeth click in accordance with passing passenger side trees. For most cars that pass me on the other side of the road, they will receive one click when the front bumper breaks the plane of my face--my infinite line going to either side of me--and another click when the rear bumper hits that point that I have established. If I'm feeling overly ambitious, road lines get a click, but only at the end of the line, not the beginning (though I doubt I'm very accurate at highway speeds). Other objects will also get this treatment as well, but only if the area I'm in is severely lacking in trees, other cars, or a broken lane marker.
I believe I may be crazy after all.
Quite possibly the only reason that I think I'm not entirely nuts for doing this is because if I miss a "click point," so to speak, I'm not affected by it. If I had OCD and I missed the front bumper but got the rear, I would probably have to engage in another ritual to correct my mistake and make the world right again. Maybe I'd have to tap my knee twice or turn up the stereo volume one level and then down two. Though, all of that corrective ritualism would leave me missing other important click opportunities and I'd only ever be correcting my misses. This would be a serious waste of time and addition of unneeded stress for someone with OCD, I would assume. But a miss has never been an issue for me because there is always another car or tree. Maybe I bypassed all those problems when I switched to tooth clicking from head nodding and increased my speed and accuracy, thus eliminating any real need for corrections.
Or, maybe I just get that bored when I drive the same roads all the time and I need something to keep it interesting.
That's probably the better explanation, come to think of it. If I'm not clicking, I'm usually slightly spacing out during my routine commuting route. I know the way so definitively, so back-of-my-handedly, that I'll sometimes take in the scenery and just let good 'ole Brain take the wheel. Brain will notice when my active consciousness is beginning to wander about somewhere else and will take control of my hands and feet, accurately guiding me through the morning or evening masses and get me where I need to go. If a problem occurs, it wakes me out of my stupor and I'll give my input. But mostly, it rouses me back into active reality when we've safely reached our destination. I'm not sure if I could count on two hands the amount of times I've gotten somewhere, sometimes all the way to my home or office, without having any memory of the drive. Those times that I've come to in the middle of our trip, I've almost always gripped the wheel with a sudden panic until I recognized where I was and continued on. Since I've thus far never found tattered, blood-soaked clothing or the remnants of a bicycle dangling out from the under carriage of my car, I've always thought that Brain has done a fine job in my abscence. In turn, I reward it with beer. It's a system that works.
Recently, I've noticed that since I started drinking coffee on the way into work that I haven't needed Brain to take over at all. Though, I have been clicking more, and faster. In the evening, it's a different story and all bets are off as far as my active involvement in the trek home is concerned.
So I guess what it all boils down to is that during normal commuting hours between Monday and Friday, you'll either find me to be a tooth-clicking lunatic or a zombie driver, musing about in a world of my own behind glazed over eyes while Brain does the heavy lifting. It's like having a person who does all the work in a group project and I get to slap my name on the cover when all is said and done.
But, like I said, I reward it with beer, and so far have heard no complaints.
I used to do it with a nod of my head, but I realized that people would notice and question my odd behavior. Plus, I was always a bit too slow and the lag time left me...unsatisfied.
Click, Click. Click.
For nearly every prominent tree I pass (saplings and tightly grouped ones don't count), I'll give it one "click" between my top and bottom front tooth. If the tree is on the left, the left teeth click. The right-side front teeth click in accordance with passing passenger side trees. For most cars that pass me on the other side of the road, they will receive one click when the front bumper breaks the plane of my face--my infinite line going to either side of me--and another click when the rear bumper hits that point that I have established. If I'm feeling overly ambitious, road lines get a click, but only at the end of the line, not the beginning (though I doubt I'm very accurate at highway speeds). Other objects will also get this treatment as well, but only if the area I'm in is severely lacking in trees, other cars, or a broken lane marker.
I believe I may be crazy after all.
Quite possibly the only reason that I think I'm not entirely nuts for doing this is because if I miss a "click point," so to speak, I'm not affected by it. If I had OCD and I missed the front bumper but got the rear, I would probably have to engage in another ritual to correct my mistake and make the world right again. Maybe I'd have to tap my knee twice or turn up the stereo volume one level and then down two. Though, all of that corrective ritualism would leave me missing other important click opportunities and I'd only ever be correcting my misses. This would be a serious waste of time and addition of unneeded stress for someone with OCD, I would assume. But a miss has never been an issue for me because there is always another car or tree. Maybe I bypassed all those problems when I switched to tooth clicking from head nodding and increased my speed and accuracy, thus eliminating any real need for corrections.
Or, maybe I just get that bored when I drive the same roads all the time and I need something to keep it interesting.
That's probably the better explanation, come to think of it. If I'm not clicking, I'm usually slightly spacing out during my routine commuting route. I know the way so definitively, so back-of-my-handedly, that I'll sometimes take in the scenery and just let good 'ole Brain take the wheel. Brain will notice when my active consciousness is beginning to wander about somewhere else and will take control of my hands and feet, accurately guiding me through the morning or evening masses and get me where I need to go. If a problem occurs, it wakes me out of my stupor and I'll give my input. But mostly, it rouses me back into active reality when we've safely reached our destination. I'm not sure if I could count on two hands the amount of times I've gotten somewhere, sometimes all the way to my home or office, without having any memory of the drive. Those times that I've come to in the middle of our trip, I've almost always gripped the wheel with a sudden panic until I recognized where I was and continued on. Since I've thus far never found tattered, blood-soaked clothing or the remnants of a bicycle dangling out from the under carriage of my car, I've always thought that Brain has done a fine job in my abscence. In turn, I reward it with beer. It's a system that works.
Recently, I've noticed that since I started drinking coffee on the way into work that I haven't needed Brain to take over at all. Though, I have been clicking more, and faster. In the evening, it's a different story and all bets are off as far as my active involvement in the trek home is concerned.
So I guess what it all boils down to is that during normal commuting hours between Monday and Friday, you'll either find me to be a tooth-clicking lunatic or a zombie driver, musing about in a world of my own behind glazed over eyes while Brain does the heavy lifting. It's like having a person who does all the work in a group project and I get to slap my name on the cover when all is said and done.
But, like I said, I reward it with beer, and so far have heard no complaints.
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