Summer's over now, which means that I'm being shoved off of the highway and onto backroads much sooner during my morning drive. I used to be able to make it all the way to my exit on the highway, but now it's like the whole world has been jerked back into reality and they all meet in the morning to trudge the beaten trail together.
I always think it's interesting how so many people are trying to progress in the same direction but yet they have no idea how to do it faster than a snail's pace. Some mornings I hit the road and think that through some miraculous turn of events traffic will be both voluminous and simultaneously forging ahead at a steady clip. But then again, I haven't had coffee first thing in the morning in a while now and it might be seriously affecting my brain. Without fail, there is nothing miraculous about traffic these days, except its undaunting ability to morph me into a frustrated mess behind a fist-pounded steering wheel. So in order to avoid aneurysm, I flee the collapsing hoard, that beacon of vehicular incompetence, and take to slower and calmer roads with whoever else decided that the longevity of their sanity was more valuable than a straight(er) shot to their destination.
The back roads are really nice, though. Perhaps even a little too relaxing for those without a healthy dose of caffeine in their system. I slither between sprawling estates with manicured landscapes and scoot underneath bowing canopies that have tangled, over time, to create miniature tunnel systems that mute the sunlight and disrupt my satellite radio reception. I dodge those small plastic signs designed to look like children warning me to drive slow as I pass the country club's tennis court crosswalk. Very rarely is anyone out that early, but the heated tennis court is still steaming off the morning dew in anticipation. There are school buses that slow everything down, but they dip in and out of so many neighborhoods that time spent behind them is relatively fleeting. A few flashes of the red and yellow and they're gone. The traffic cop at the high school recognizes me now and we exchange waves as he motions me to continue. He's got a wild behavior about him that aides in his ability to usher oncoming traffic in multiple directions but not control his temper when disobeyed. He's laced into a few drivers who tested his patience, always turning back in my direction to shake his head after his angry diatribe and point me on my way.
As annoying as it is to be forced off of the easy route every morning, the back roads give me a chance to prepare and relax before I have to start my day. I don't have to worry about people floating into my lane, or slamming on my brakes to avoid sitting in someone's back seat. My biggest concern is trying to quickly get a look at the sky so my Sirius won't fizzle out as much. Truth be told, if I have to choose between intermittent satellite reception or wanting to punch the nearest living thing once I finally exit my car after an arduous highway excursion, I'll take to the woods any day.
The trick now is to just try and keep it a secret as best I can and let the crazies duke it out along their dotted lines.
Showing posts with label coffee. Show all posts
Showing posts with label coffee. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
Monday
I'd say roughly 95% of everyone I drive past in the morning is a vice commutor.
Some smoke cigarettes, some smoke weed. Some drink coffee, some drink redbull, some tip flasks. Some people do blow off of CD cases, some pop pills. Some people masturbate, some... yes, some masturbate.
It takes a while to start recognizing the same people, but after getting to the highway between 7:40 and 7:45 for nearly a year, familiar faces begin to emerge from the crowd. That woman who smokes Parliaments, but bites the paper foreskin off the filter before she does, always gets on at Main Street. The guy who packs a bowl at Park and hits it passing the gas station is there most mornings. He works with computers, I think (or steals monitors and keeps them in his back seat). There's another guy who gets on at 42 who dumps his shiny boot flask into his coffee. I'm sure I don't have to tell you that the masturbator is easy to spot once you recognize what's going on.
This trend isn't isolated to a few drivers, either, and that makes sense. These habits help us get through that part of the morning. For me, it's coffee, Howard Stern (with some channel changes during commercials), and the occasional cigarette. Mess with any of that, and I'd be upset about it. That time belongs to me. There are very few instances outside of my commute and my bathroom where time belongs to just me. I fill that hour or so with caffiene, nicotine, and raunchy humor. It's perfect.
I imagine most people are like that. They need those familiar, bad habit, routine elements to start their day. It's their reward for getting up. Or, in some cases, it's a way to deal with what they're getting up for. I could empathize with either view.
Does the woman smoking the cigarettes need them to calm herself down before taking a seat at her desk or waltzing into a meeting? Or is she just bored and that gives her something to do? Does the pot cloud or clear the guy's head? Either would immediately reveal how he feels about his job. Same goes for our boozing friend. And for the masturbator (as if we could forget), maybe it reminds her of the night before, or a night she wishes she could have. Or maybe she just wants to do something dirty with her hand before she punches the clock at the local franchise and keeps it stuffed and suffocated in a latex glove while she serves sandwiches and coffee. In the end, though, it's their time to spend without the need for justifications.
I can understand all of those scenarios. I can because we're all basically the same. We all merge into that giant snake every morning and need something--anything--to do with ourselves before we break off, minutes or hours later, to go about our own business. It's a strange portal, the highway. You get so used to it and its ways, its routine, that you need to separate from it with something of your own. You sip coffee and laugh at the radio. You sing as loud as you can and drum on the steering wheel. You blow smoke at it all. You rub one out. Anything to avoid letting the monotony suck you in and strip you of who you are.
The saddest thing you can see on the road at 8:03 in the morning is someone sitting in a silent car doing nothing at all.
Some smoke cigarettes, some smoke weed. Some drink coffee, some drink redbull, some tip flasks. Some people do blow off of CD cases, some pop pills. Some people masturbate, some... yes, some masturbate.
It takes a while to start recognizing the same people, but after getting to the highway between 7:40 and 7:45 for nearly a year, familiar faces begin to emerge from the crowd. That woman who smokes Parliaments, but bites the paper foreskin off the filter before she does, always gets on at Main Street. The guy who packs a bowl at Park and hits it passing the gas station is there most mornings. He works with computers, I think (or steals monitors and keeps them in his back seat). There's another guy who gets on at 42 who dumps his shiny boot flask into his coffee. I'm sure I don't have to tell you that the masturbator is easy to spot once you recognize what's going on.
This trend isn't isolated to a few drivers, either, and that makes sense. These habits help us get through that part of the morning. For me, it's coffee, Howard Stern (with some channel changes during commercials), and the occasional cigarette. Mess with any of that, and I'd be upset about it. That time belongs to me. There are very few instances outside of my commute and my bathroom where time belongs to just me. I fill that hour or so with caffiene, nicotine, and raunchy humor. It's perfect.
I imagine most people are like that. They need those familiar, bad habit, routine elements to start their day. It's their reward for getting up. Or, in some cases, it's a way to deal with what they're getting up for. I could empathize with either view.
Does the woman smoking the cigarettes need them to calm herself down before taking a seat at her desk or waltzing into a meeting? Or is she just bored and that gives her something to do? Does the pot cloud or clear the guy's head? Either would immediately reveal how he feels about his job. Same goes for our boozing friend. And for the masturbator (as if we could forget), maybe it reminds her of the night before, or a night she wishes she could have. Or maybe she just wants to do something dirty with her hand before she punches the clock at the local franchise and keeps it stuffed and suffocated in a latex glove while she serves sandwiches and coffee. In the end, though, it's their time to spend without the need for justifications.
I can understand all of those scenarios. I can because we're all basically the same. We all merge into that giant snake every morning and need something--anything--to do with ourselves before we break off, minutes or hours later, to go about our own business. It's a strange portal, the highway. You get so used to it and its ways, its routine, that you need to separate from it with something of your own. You sip coffee and laugh at the radio. You sing as loud as you can and drum on the steering wheel. You blow smoke at it all. You rub one out. Anything to avoid letting the monotony suck you in and strip you of who you are.
The saddest thing you can see on the road at 8:03 in the morning is someone sitting in a silent car doing nothing at all.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)