Welcome to America Part 1: Get out of the way.

Get out of the way!

My first weekend driving. Only thing scarier than that for me is was that on my first weekend, I decided to go to the big city. That, other than trips to the airport and IKEA, I’ve barely been in. And, of the multiple trips we have taken to IKEA, the only thing I’ve ever purchased was lunch. I don’t care if it’s horse meat, those are some damn good meatballs. Stop ruining everything for me. What’s next, are you gonna tell me that there’s not singles in my area looking to hook up? (Everything on the internet is true.) The point is, I have no idea where the fuck I’m going. No fucking clue. It’s before noon on a Saturday and it is an absolutely beautiful day. The kind of day that makes schmucks like myself hopeful and they make motivational posters about. My first call is a quick and easy one, thankfully. I get a call to a small apartment building full of optimistic college students who are paying their own way through life. How do I know this? Because they always insist on telling me about it.

I pull up in front of the building and wait. And wait. And where the fuck is this bitch? Like I mentioned earlier, I was new at this so I didn’t know I’m only supposed to wait a handful of minutes. I started digging through the app and found that I could call the client. So I did. And she didn’t answer. I looked around the area and didn’t see anyone waiting or walking up. I decided to call the client again. (Every time I call them “Clients” I feel like an Escort.) This time she picked up. I explained who I was and told her I was waiting outside. She apologized for taking to long and said that she had gotten distracted. (Which I’m pretty sure is stranger code for “I was taking a massive dump.”) She finally got to the vehicle and plopped down, bashing my seat with her purse. She informed me that she was a college student working her way through school and making it on her own. (Would you just look at that?) I didn’t ask, but she made sure I knew. I hate to go here, but she was what the kids call “a basic bitch.” She epitomized the typical white girl. She was society’s view of what a white girl should be. Ugg boots, black leggings, puffy jacket, too much make-up, and Starbucks cup in hand. It wasn’t October so I can’t say “Pumpkin Spice Latte,” so I’m gonna go with “Venti Half-caff vanilla skim soy choco-mocha double shot with a splash of conformity; heavy on the whipped cream.” And, to top it all off, she was headed to a mall. As we say in the south when we’re overtly talking shit about someone: “Bless her heart.” Hopefully I can drop her off before she starts talking about Sex and the City.

The mall proves to be harder to get to than I thought. The street leading to it is divided down the median by a fucking stream an no one thought to build a few friggin bridges. So I follow the road all the way the fuck down to the end, passing the mall, just to turn around and drive all the way the fuck back down. Naturally, the basic bitch in the back asks me if I’m adding miles on purpose and demands to see the GPS. (Basic Bitch in the Back. Trying saying that one five times fast.) Before she gets too upset and asks to speak to the manager (Come on, we all know basic bitches turn into soccer moms) we arrive at the mall. I traverse the endless parking lot looking for a movie theater that she is supposed to be meeting her friends in front of so they can sit around a table staring at their phones and not talking to each other. When I finally located it I was met by one of the most depressing sights I have ever laid my innocent eyes on: three more girls dressed exactly like her. Eyes locked on the phones in their hands, Iced lattes in the other hand. I shit you not. Accompanying this downfall of modern values and culture where two guys, both clad in khaki shorts, button-downs, and those awful sunglasses that are obviously not Ray-Bans with the funky strap on the hanging off the top of their fucking heads. The whole outfit just screams “I have no identity, nor personality.” It’s like: “What do I want to pretend to be today? A beach bum from the 50s? Perhaps a budding professional on the cusp of greatness? Do I want to look like I spend to much time at Bass Pro Shops? Oh, and slippers. Because I like to combine a lack of comfort with future debilitating back problems.” Was that too much?

I drop her off and, like most self-indulged cunts, she left the fucking door open. Fuck the piece of shit driver, get a real job you bum, I’m in college, I’m going to be someone one day with my Art History degree. Fuck off. I get out of the vehicle and walk around to close the door, giving her and her friends a strict “mean-mug” the whole time. Not quite the stink eye, more of “I hope they gave you whole milk instead of skim and you gain two pounds and get all self-conscious about it” look. As I’m walking back around the car I hear the ride notification going off so I sprint in to accept it. One of the things I like about the big city is that the rides are fairly close by each time, sometimes I’m even lucky enough to pick up a ride at the same location where I just dropped someone off. Often in smaller cities, my next ride could be 10-15 minutes away, this new ride was a mere two minutes away, right on the other side of the mall.

I drive around the mall and immediately see the apartment building I am being called to. I put my turn signal on and begin to slow down. Unfortunately for me, the line of cars behind me don’t seem to get the hint. It’s like they’ve never seen a blinker before. Which is believable because they never fucking use them. The sidewalks are full of sporadic pedestrians and I have a small gap to try to turn into. But the car behind me is getting closer and I need to slow down significantly if I’m going to make my turn. There is a gap in the zombies walking around staring at their social media and I think I can make it at this speed, I’ll just have to go heavy brakes after I get off the road. There is a group of Asian kids dressed oddly like the Resivour Dogs standing on the side so I have to aim it just right. I catch a bit of what I think at the time is luck and the car behind me merges into another lane; so I have a second to decrease my speed. My blinker is still on, and can been seen from multiple angles if you’re not staring at your fucking phone. I start to pull in to the small driveway, right off a busy road, still going faster than I would like to be. I am immediately forced to slam on brakes, shooting me forward until my seat belt locks, driving me back into my seat. What’s the problem, you ask? The fucking Asian kids walked right in front of the damn car! What the fuck, man? Do you not see the blinker, or the car slowing down? What the fucking fuck is your fucking deal, motherfuckers? Oh, wait. They’re my next passengers.

As my heart rate is slowing from almost killing three people, who by the way didn’t seem to notice, my doors open and they file in. Every single one of them still glued to their phones, seemingly playing a game. I greet them and they say nothing, so I ask them where we are headed. The one who decided to sit next to me looked up for a second, motioned to my GPS, and then goes back to staring at his phone. Spoken word is dead apparently. Now I’m faced with a more daunting task then trying to draw out a conversation from these people. Figuring out how the fuck I’m going to get out of here. I don’t have enough room to turn around, and I’m getting honked at because when I had to stomp on the brakes I left my ass end in the middle of the fucking road. I put the car in reverse and wait for enough of a gap to get back on the road.

Once everything loads in the GPS and I have a second free of chaos to pay attention to the destination, I see that the destination is fifty fucking minutes away. I’m grateful for the long ride, but the lack of conversation over 50 minutes is going to make for a boring, awkward ride. Not my idea of a good time. Don’t get me wrong, over the course of the incredibly long ride words are exchanged. Just not to me. Or in English. I cruise down the interstate and make my own little running commentary in my head; basking in views I’ve never seen before and lamenting on how Burger King french toast sticks are better than homemade french toast because homemade french toast is basically egg-bread. At this point I decide that having them complain would be better than no conversation at all, so I turn the radio on and blared some Tool; gradually increasing volume, then decreasing it just to increase it again. I speed up, I slow down, I weave through traffic. I’d roll my window down, then back up, then back down. I turned on the heater, then it was too hot so I turned on the air conditioner. Naturally, that was too cold so I turned the heater back on. Fucking nothing. No one even looked up.

It was like the opening of Deadpool, but I was in my own cab.

We finally arrive at our destination, a bus stop of some sort right outside of a college. I pull in to a parking spot and my passengers exit the vehicle silently, not a word shared between us. But at least they closed their fucking doors. I put the car in reverse and check my mirrors. I’m slowly letting off the clutch and applying the accelerator when once again I am forced to stop suddenly, tires barking and all. I’m yanked around in my seat and I whip around to verify that I did indeed see what I thought I saw. The fucking kids I just dropped off ignored my reverse lights and are walking behind my car. I even checked before hand. To make things even better, they are now standing behind my vehicle staring at their damn phones! You have got to be fucking kidding me. Get out of the damn way! They begin to walk away and I back out of my spot, just to have a completely different group of people walk in front of me. I take a few deep breaths before driving away. I had to get out of there before I ended up in the newspaper the next morning.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s