Mom? Dad? This apology is to you, and to society at large.
You see, when I was 17, I stayed at John’s house one night when his parents were away and we got drunk. Really drunk. Then we went out driving. Yes, I was a drunk driver. I’m ashamed. I should have known better… Okay… well, we didn’t exactly drive… we played Pole Position on John’s computer all night… but that’s kind of the same thing… and we did crash a lot… and I felt really guilty about it.
VM: Do you need any ketchup Dad?
Me: I’m eating chicken. You don’t put ketchup on chicken. Gross!
TR: I do.
Me: Unless you’re Mom.
CC: Yeah. Mom thinks ketchup is an entrée.
Me: Ew.
TR: Yeah. I used to eat ketchup packets for lunch when I was in high school.
Me: Oh, gross!
Here’s to that really friendly guy I met the other day on the road to work.
Southern California drivers get a really bad rap, and you totally blew away that stereotype. I don’t know what it was that made you want to meet me – perhaps you liked the shiny blue color of my car, or the nifty Apple bumper sticker in my back window – but your enthusiasm is to be commended. Out of my rear view mirror I saw you pass three other cars in a No Passing Zone just so you could get behind me! I was so impressed by your eagerness to meet me that I immediately had to slow down so that you could catch up. The look on your face when I tapped my brakes in greeting was priceless! It was like we were old friends who hadn’t seen each other in 20 years. You started waving at me, and I waved back and grinned from ear-to-ear. When you started flashing your lights and bouncing up and down in your seat, it felt like we were dancing at a disco – especially since I was listening to an oldies station, and KC and the Sunshine Band’s Boogie Shoes was blaring over the speakers. I just couldn’t help it, I had to turn on my hazard lights and bounce along too. I was having a blast, just singing at the top of my lungs. I wonder if we were listening to the same station.
I slowed the car down even more. After all, good times are hard to come by when you commute a long distance to work and I wanted this one to last as long as possible. I hope that 10 mph was slow enough for you. I would have gone slower, but we were going downhill on a narrow mountain road, and that’s hard to do without burning out your brakes. I, for one, wish it could have gone on forever. Unfortunately, all good things come to an end. When the road finally widened out to two lanes you zipped past me with an excited burst of speed, waving as you passed me. I couldn’t quite hear what you were shouting, but judging by the gesture you were making it must have been something like, “You’re number 1!” I gestured back and shouted, “No! No! You’re number 1!”
I must say, I’ve never had a better time on my way to work. You are quite possibly the best driver I’ve ever seen! I’m not just saying that either. I’m sure the reason that cop pulled you over a few minutes later was to tell you what an excellent driver you are. I’ll bet he complimented you on the cool spoiler you have on your car too. You really ought to be a professional driver, like Jeff Gordon or Dale Earnhardt, Jr.
So, here’s to you! Cheers! Kudos! Bottoms up!
Here’s to that guy that rides his motorcycle wearing the mohawk helmet!
I see you every day on my way to work, and you always make me laugh. I’m not sure why. It could be because you have the loudest motorcycle on the planet. I mean, I can still hear you when you’re ten miles down the road. That type of thing just screams, “Look at me! I’m an attention whore!” Is that the effect you’re going for? It’s okay if you are, attention whores make me laugh. It could also be the fact that that helmet makes you look like a rooster… or a character from Akira. I can only hope that you’re going for comic effect. I have a hard time imagining anyone that rides a crotch-rocket like yours seeing that helmet in a store and going, “Oh! Wow! Oh, cool! This is so boss! I’ve got to get it!” I could be wrong, and if so, I apologize. In any case, you brighten my every morning as you zoom by me at 120 mph.
So, here’s to you! Cheers! Kudos! Bottoms up!
Introductory Note: I feel a need to apologize to certain people for things that I’ve done in my past. I wasn’t always the nice, mild-mannered, stable, middle-aged, fatherly-type that you see before you today. At one point, just yesterday it seems, I was one wild and crazy guy. Okay. That’s probably a stretch (wipe that grin off your face, Mom, I know you’re reading this). But the fact of the matter is, there are certain incidents in my mind that stick out, and I need to make amends somehow. To that end, I present the first in what will possibly be a series of apologies.
Southern California has a large population of “freeway squirrels.” Freeway squirrels are ground squirrels that hang out on the sides of busy roads, scrounging for discarded food items and daring one another to dart out into traffic. A freeway squirrel’s life expectancy is about two weeks. One day, when I was about 19 years old, I was driving to work when I spotted a lone freeway squirrel practicing his ninja skills. As my car approached, the squirrel edged closer and closer to the road. Not wanting to hit the poor stupid creature, I looked to see if I could possibly make a lane change. Unfortunately, this is Southern California we’re talking about, and I was pretty much boxed in by other traffic. There was nothing to it but to keep going. As I passed the squirrel, I heard a thunkita-thunkita-thunkita noise underneath the car. I looked in my rear view mirror to confirm my fears, only to see the hapless squirrel flying through the air. Apparently it had gotten too close, and had been sucked under the car when I passed. It shot out the back, arced up into the sky and landed smack dab in the front seat of an open convertible about three cars back.
I started laughing. Hysterically. I know I shouldn’t laugh at the pain of other creatures, and normally I wouldn’t. I’m an animal lover, truth to tell. Anyone who doubts this should come by our house and count our pets. But the look on the face of the woman in the passenger seat of that convertible – as a dying squirrel landed twitching her lap – was priceless! She began screaming and jumping up and down, then did a back flip into the back seat. The driver freaked out and swerved into the next lane (fortunately there wasn’t another car in it). I can only imagine what they must have been thinking – “Holy crap! It’s raining dead squirrels!” Tears were coming out of my eyes, I was laughing so hard. I have found this story so funny that I’ve probably related it to nearly everyone I know at least twice. However, I now realize that this incident could have caused undue stress and emotional trauma to the couple in the other car. So, If you were the driver or passenger of that car, I am sincerely sorry. I know you probably now have an irrational fear of convertibles (and possibly squirrels) now. It wasn’t my fault, really – it was the squirrel’s – but I am guilty of laughing at your pain. I feel really bad about it. No, really. I do. Honest. I swear.
