At the age of sixteen, I received my driver’s license. The man who granted me this privilege, literally said, during the on-the-road part of the exam, “Are you trying to kill someone?” He willingly gave me my license, as long as I promised to practice, a lot! I wasn’t a bad driver; I was a scared kid who didn’t understand what tailgating was and had an issue with judging distance. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it!
That was a few years ago and I have improved greatly since then, but I did have some escapades along the way. I’ve always possessed a sense of adventure, even though I did not possess a sense of direction. How I managed to get to the Renaissance Faire, without the use of a GPS, is beyond me. How did I navigate city driving? If I knew where the lake was, I could figure it out, but other than that, it was a crap shoot. In a nutshell, I’m lucky I’m still alive.
I have many fond memories of road trips, allowing me to see so much of this beautiful country. Speeding up in hilly areas for the thrill of taking momentary flight, and speeding in general, has been my MO. I’ve only received one speeding ticket in my life, but it was worth it. I was nineteen, driving cross country to visit my brother in New York. I had an old Cutlass sedan that had a mind of its own. The cop caught me doing 77, but I had been doing well over 100. When I told my brother that it was the car, not me, he didn’t believe me, until he drove it. That car had power, a V8 engine, remember those?
In my twenties, I worked in a far west suburb. Driving home along 55th street, I would pass a quarry. One day, while driving home with a friend, we wanted to go into the city to a place on Archer Ave. I knew that Archer Ave. was part of 55th street, so I figured it had to go through, right? Don’t ask me how, but I managed to find our way into the quarry! It was a bumpy ride and I eventually had their security team chasing me, but I didn’t get caught. Somehow, I managed to escape and get us to where we were going, laughing the entire way.
Laughter, or making light of a scary situation is usually how I cope. With my complete lack of a sense of direction, my kids can attest to how many times I would say in the car, “Well, I think were on another adventure.” To which they would exclaim, “Not again!” However, I always had a pee bottle in the car for them, which they liked to use even if we weren’t lost, my bad. As long as I could find a major street, I could figure out from the crossroads if we were headed in the right direction. Sometimes, it would be a while, but the older I got, the sooner I would realize when I had to turn around and head the other way.
I think the road rage developed in my thirties. My favorite turn of phrase to use towards the other drivers was, “You cock sucking bastard!” I finally realized that I was swearing in front of my kids too much, just one of the ways I have scarred them for life, and I changed my saying to, “You CSB!” I told this story to John the Pilot. One day, while at the zoo with a friend, I sent him a text message saying that I was at the zoo and that the bears and elephants said hello. He wrote back, “That’s nice, tell them I said hello, but not the giraffes, they’re a bunch of CSBs!” I laughed and asked, “What did a giraffe ever do to you?” From that point forward, my road rage phrase became, “You’re a giraffe!” and yes, I have used it in other circumstances allowing me to curse at a superior without them ever knowing.
Sadly, my children have inherited my road rage. My eldest is so bad, I have to laugh while driving with him. I mean, mine is bad, but his is insane. The frequency and duration of his spews must qualify for a world’s record. The other, I notice more, has inherited my lack of depth perception. He is a very aggressive driver/tailgater and driving with him can be a rather nail-biting experience, but to date, his driving record isn’t so bad (I winced as I typed that sentence). However, I don’t believe that their aliments are completely my fault because both of them, more so the eldest, have been hit by cars while being pedestrians, bicycle riders and car drivers. I think it makes total and complete sense that they both possess an aggressive nature when driving as a defense mechanism. I think that statement would hold up in court, don’t you?
As for me, now that I don’t have to worry about swearing around my children, I let ‘er rip. I think it’s a sort of stress reliever. If you’ve ever been a city driver, you know exactly what I mean. It’s like the rules of the road apply only to those of us, that are not as special as the privileged individuals who do not need to heed stop signs and that the lines on the road are merely a suggestion to them. I often wonder if my peripheral vision is becoming impaired, because I swear those giraffes are way too close to me! Don’t even get me started on bicycle and motorcycle drivers, they too are privileged, right? Pedestrians can cross the road wherever they like, whenever the mood strikes them. And, let’s not forget about the two seasons in Chicago, winter and construction. Yes, city (and the near west suburbs) driving is challenging to say the least.
I have been trying to make my morning commute a little less stressful by taking different routes. I’ll start off okay, but it seems that it’s only a matter of time before someone crosses my path that ticks me off. Yesterday, I only drove a couple of blocks before I felt compelled to say out loud, “I hate you. I really hate you, you fucking squirrel.” However, I did say it in a hushed tone, so maybe it doesn’t count as cursing. I like to call my work mentor along the way to give him an update about how far I’ve managed to drive without swearing. Sometimes, I’ve made it all the way, but more times than not, I might make it half way, a third or a couple of blocks. One time, I had to call him from the alley while leaving my garage. He said, “What could have possibly happened in the alley?” I don’t recall, but it was enough to start my rant.
One day, while trying to avoid construction, I ended up having to twist and turn in so many directions I think the drive took twice as long. Once again, I called my mentor and with each obstacle I encountered, I asked him, “Left, or right?” At one point he said, “Just don’t make four lefts or you’ll be going in a circle.” Good point. By the way, my journey to work is only 5.5 miles and on a Sunday morning, I can do it in 15 minutes. Most days, 20-25, but somedays, it has literally taken me an hour. Yes, that’s how menacing my commute can be.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I enjoy driving, but as I get older, I do it less and less. Between the sky rocketing gasoline prices and my lack of someplace to be, my jaunts are pretty much limited to work and necessities. Driving is in my blood, the freedom it allows me, to go when I want to go, still allows me that sense of adventure. I’ve come a long way, no longer tailgating, watching the speed limit and very grateful for my GPS. I try to find a way to laugh through the predicaments I encounter or I swear as stress relief. One way or the other, I don’t let the fucking giraffes win. Ha!
#thelieswechoosetolivewith
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