Drivin' Like an Old Person
Tonight, everyone passed me on the freeway.
Tonight, I drove like an old person. (Except I went around the Santa Monica Farmer's Market, not through it.)
My hands at ten and two on the wheel, firmly within my own lane.
I think my driving is like my handwriting. Quick, loose and scribbly. But I'm an artist, and when I want to take the time, I can make my handwriting look perfect and neat. Tonight, my driving was like that.
I'd like to become a stunt driver. So I could become an artist with the car, too.
The roads are empty at three in the morning. The freeways are wide.
In a metropolitan area with a population of about nine million, you pass people you'll never see again. And so you wonder.
What's the story with the skinhead cab driver? Is his forehead scarred from a knife fight or a can opener? His scowl borne of racist hatred or rapper thuggishness? Was his career choice dicated by family tradition, maybe, or did his research grant fall through?
And, more interestingly, what's the story with the sad-looking girl in his back seat, who's watching the streetlights pass without really seeing them?
The schizo homeless guy at Edgewood & La Brea bows to you sometimes. Sometimes he's there at four AM. Sometimes he's gone at eleven PM. I thought that was weird, his inconsistency, until I realized he didn't have a watch.
What's the story with the slumped figure, sleeping on a countertop inside the Toluca Lake post office at 2:40 AM?
The freeways are wide and empty. It's easy to not notice how fast you're going. Last night, I got a ticket.
I saw someone pulled over earlier last night. Pulled over on an onramp to the 101. "Wouldn't that suck," I thought, "if I got pulled over tonight?"
I sped on. "Wow, I'm going pretty fast," I think I even thought. "Good thing that cop was way back there."
If I had a baseball card, it would have stats on the back:
Years of driving: 8, including learner's permit.
Major, car-totaling accidents: 3
Number that were my fault: 0
(Although I guess I could drive more defensively. Next time I'll be more assertive while waiting at a red light, and maybe a police chase won't terminate in my trunk.)
Minor accidents: 6
Number that were my fault: 4
Fender benders: 10, that I can remember.
Number that were my fault: 9
Pulled over by police: 8, plus 1 red-light camera.
Resulted in a ticket: 6
Pulled over within the last month: 3
Resulted in a ticket: 2
That I am going to contest in court: 1
Parking tickets: 6 or so, but nobody counts those.
Insurance premium: (whimper)
The worst part is, though, the thought that maybe I should put limits on myself. What I mean is, all through school you're taught that you can be whatever you want to be, do whatever you want, all that b.s. ... and one of the things that I want to accomplish in my life is getting a pilot's license.
Well, if I'm this bad a driver, maybe I shouldn't even attempt a pilot's license. I mean, why risk it? I hope I'd be a good pilot, since it's an entirely different skill -- just like no matter how bad a driver I am, I'm still a decent editor. I hope I'd pay close attention, and be very safe.
But the consequences would be so great, maybe I shouldn't allow myself that opportunity to fail.
Tonight, I drove like an old person. (Except I went around the Santa Monica Farmer's Market, not through it.)
My hands at ten and two on the wheel, firmly within my own lane.
I think my driving is like my handwriting. Quick, loose and scribbly. But I'm an artist, and when I want to take the time, I can make my handwriting look perfect and neat. Tonight, my driving was like that.
I'd like to become a stunt driver. So I could become an artist with the car, too.
The roads are empty at three in the morning. The freeways are wide.
In a metropolitan area with a population of about nine million, you pass people you'll never see again. And so you wonder.
What's the story with the skinhead cab driver? Is his forehead scarred from a knife fight or a can opener? His scowl borne of racist hatred or rapper thuggishness? Was his career choice dicated by family tradition, maybe, or did his research grant fall through?
And, more interestingly, what's the story with the sad-looking girl in his back seat, who's watching the streetlights pass without really seeing them?
The schizo homeless guy at Edgewood & La Brea bows to you sometimes. Sometimes he's there at four AM. Sometimes he's gone at eleven PM. I thought that was weird, his inconsistency, until I realized he didn't have a watch.
What's the story with the slumped figure, sleeping on a countertop inside the Toluca Lake post office at 2:40 AM?
The freeways are wide and empty. It's easy to not notice how fast you're going. Last night, I got a ticket.
I saw someone pulled over earlier last night. Pulled over on an onramp to the 101. "Wouldn't that suck," I thought, "if I got pulled over tonight?"
I sped on. "Wow, I'm going pretty fast," I think I even thought. "Good thing that cop was way back there."
If I had a baseball card, it would have stats on the back:
Years of driving: 8, including learner's permit.
Major, car-totaling accidents: 3
Number that were my fault: 0
(Although I guess I could drive more defensively. Next time I'll be more assertive while waiting at a red light, and maybe a police chase won't terminate in my trunk.)
Minor accidents: 6
Number that were my fault: 4
Fender benders: 10, that I can remember.
Number that were my fault: 9
Pulled over by police: 8, plus 1 red-light camera.
Resulted in a ticket: 6
Pulled over within the last month: 3
Resulted in a ticket: 2
That I am going to contest in court: 1
Parking tickets: 6 or so, but nobody counts those.
Insurance premium: (whimper)
The worst part is, though, the thought that maybe I should put limits on myself. What I mean is, all through school you're taught that you can be whatever you want to be, do whatever you want, all that b.s. ... and one of the things that I want to accomplish in my life is getting a pilot's license.
Well, if I'm this bad a driver, maybe I shouldn't even attempt a pilot's license. I mean, why risk it? I hope I'd be a good pilot, since it's an entirely different skill -- just like no matter how bad a driver I am, I'm still a decent editor. I hope I'd pay close attention, and be very safe.
But the consequences would be so great, maybe I shouldn't allow myself that opportunity to fail.
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