Road Rants and Recollections

I was driving today when this guy on a bike crossed two lanes of traffic and cut in front of me. Without a helmet. Talking on his cell phone.

For the next few blocks he simply rode in the middle of the lane so I could not pass him. I finally turned onto another street and got around him that way.

I fought the urge to flip him the bird as I turned.

I hate driving now. I didn't realize until today how much I hate driving. I used to l-o-v-e driving until I was rear-ended by a Hummer. Yes, a Hummer.

But today, as I drove down the side street with my rage bubbling just below the surface, I thought back to the days when I first started driving. In those days I drove a VW Cabriolet and, whenever I passed another VW Cabriolet (or Rabbit), we tooted our horns, smiled and waved.

That doesn't happen now. Maybe Subaru drivers just aren't as friendly.

I also remember an artsy couple in their 30s who happened to have the same early morning schedule as me during high school. I'd be headed to school and, inevitably, they'd be in the turning lane next to me.

I followed them one day (and was late to school for the first and only time during my high school career) and saw that they owned an art gallery at the bottom of Cantrell Hill. From that day on, I'd smile, wave or, depending on the day, roll my eyes as we sat at the red light.

When it turned green, I'd go straight to school and they'd go left to work.

One day the lady in the couple gave me a bagel for breakfast. Since bagels were still somewhat of an exotic delicacy in Arkansas, I thought this was a real gift. I made sure I had a little left over when I walked into school that day. Just in case my fellow classmates were unsure of how up-and-coming I was.

Despite our every-weekday contact I never learned their names. I never told them that I was so jealous of them because they didn't have to go to high school and learn about algorithims but instead got to open the doors to their own business, look at artwork and eat bagels all day.

I wonder now if they were jealous of me because I got to go to high school and didn't have to worry about bills/taxes/rent/etc while sitting in a little art gallery which closed a couple of years later anyway.

Then there was The Boy. I think every girl has a boy like this in their lives at some point. Mine was in high school and, despite the fact that he was so cool and elusive, I felt certain that The Boy would someday see me and fall in love.

Why would we fall in love? Because we had the same car (the aforementioned VW Cabriolet)

Why would he see me? Because I stalked him.

Oh yes. I first noticed the car when I was going to pick up my friends. Then, on another day, I saw him get out of his car and I was speechless. He was so cute and, if he had short dark hair instead of his long-ish, blonde-ish hair, he would've be a modern day James Dean.

So I left a note on his car. I think it went something like this:

Hi. I have a car just like yours. My name is Erin. If you see me someday, say hi!
-Erin

Oh god.

Over the years I learned his name was Jake (ahhh, Jake) and that he was adopted (don't remember how I learned that one). He worked at a local restaurant so I added that to the the list of places to "drive-by" when I was out and about.

I'm sure he saw me at some point. He never said hi. He never fell in love.

Despite that heartbreak, I'd like to get back to those days.

The days when you smile, wave and toot your horn at someone just because you share the same model car.

The days when you could possibly be best friends, or at least bagel breakfast buddies, with the people who share your morning commute.

The days when you could fall in love because you share the same taste in cars and, therefore, everything else.

I'll make this promise. From this day forth, I will give a little wave to everyone who drives a Subaru Forrester. In case that scares people, I promise to wear a smile on my face instead of a scowl.

Unless you are on a bike without a helmet. On your cell phone. Cutting across traffic. I still reserve the right to flip you off.