Journal of Life and Driving

Friday, December 7, 2012

Preposterous People

I am on my way to the beloved city of New York right now. I sit in the arctic-like clutches of the San Francisco International Airport at terminal A11. I swear, it is about 35 degrees where I am sitting. I need a nice Snuggy, or someone to cuddle with would suffice. 

I began my trip to SFO in the most stressful way possible. I finished taking my physics final (I really must commend Dr. Brown on making yet another impossible test) at around two and left immediately afterwards. I spent my morning scampering around my house, hurtling over things in order to try and pack my bags. I don't think a single piece of clothing is properly folded in my suitcase. Good thing it is out of my sight and some baggage handler is throwing it around out on the tarmac. I didn't have a lot of time and ended up leaving some food in the fridge--that certainly won't be a whole lot of fun to come home to in a month. Whoops. I slapped together a couple of almond butter and jelly sandwiches, snatched a Cliff Bar, and shook my box of Wheat Thins to make sure there were a couple in there and high-tailed it out of there. I hopped in Otis and pulled out of my apartment with my wheels spinning. I opened my moonroof, rolled down my windows, popped in a CD of Michael Bublé's Christmas album, and drove. The sun was shining bright and the road was empty. I hunkered down and tapped into my Mario Andretti persona. I gripped the steering wheel and ate up the miles.

Before I know it I am driving through Salinas. They have a Macy's for whatever reason. Next, Gilroy. It is a little boring there without the garlic festival, I must admit. Soon after Gilroy I hit bumper to bumper traffic. So I start looking around for something to do and start playing with all the knobs and buttons in my car. I start twisting the moon roof dial and my volume button on my stereo and just genuinely start doing nothing productive with my life. I'm in traffic. What do you want me to do, sit there and be bored and get angry? I was dancing around and listening to my music and just having the time of my life. I love traffic. I might change my opinion of that when I move out of SLO and into the real world--like here in the Bay Area. Otis and I build our relationship even more when we are in traffic. We get to just hang out with each other and build that bond.

Ya, we have bonded nicely.

I get into Cupertino and start seeing some pretty cool cars. I see the signs for Silicon Valley and know that I am in the right area. All around me people is Mercedes S-classes are driving like they have jumper cables attached to their nipples. I seriously don't know who taught them it is all right to drive that fast on the freeway. I quickly get over the unsettling fact that people just always haul ass here in California. I keep my speedo up around 75 and just cruise through the San Jose area. I keep an eye on my navigation app on my phone, which has a little ball that changes color depending on how bad traffic is. The ball is green when trafic is light and red when it is bumper to bumper. The ball is slowly going from green to yellow to orange to soon deep deep red. That deep red that Santa has on his suit. The deep red that those pretentious Porsche owners paint their brake calipers. 

I find myself sitting in traffic again. Not so bad. Sitting in front of me is a brand new Porsche 911 Carrera S. Beautiful graphite color. The gentle pur that this car makes will make any guy start to have delusions of grandeur--I certainly did. Sitting next to me is the brand new Audi A7. Does life get any better? Here I sit in my 14 year old Audi feeling some sort of loose connection to this guy next o me because he drives an Audi as well. I must have been high. We dont have anything in common. In the lane next to me and up a few cars is a second generation D3 Audi A8L. The understated curves and subtleties in its lines are impressive. The understated class and charm is mind-numbing. Of course there is that guy who is driving on the side of the road in his supped-up Infinity GX35. "Dude, sick Magnaflow exhaust. Now wait in traffic like the rest of us," I wanted to somehow say to him. I would have told him that if I was able to seize control of his mind like some sort of magician. Alas, I am no magician and I was only sitting in traffic being overly creative about everything. The next clown to join the circus is some gangster who is driving his S63 AMG. Man, I need to start doing what he is doing. I need to get a college degree like him and slave away behind a desk so that I can drive a cool car like him. He at least waited like the rest of us animals in traffic without revving his monstrous V8. Good man, gangster. Good man.

Quick Google search of "graphite 911 Carrera S" came up with this. Whoops.

continuing on...

I finally get into the Long term parking garage, which is littered with high-performance cars. S5, S6, 550i, A6, M3, M5. That was just in the one aisle that I parking in. I wish I had the hours it would take to go peruse the parking garage. 

I always forget that I don't live in a place conducive to exotic, high-end cars. San Luis is a little city nestled on the coast of central California where there are way too many college students, way too many young budding professionals who haven't made it out of there yet, and a moderte amount of elderly people who don't understand us young folk. None of these people can afford nice, fast, clean cars. They are mostly Hondas and old run-down German cars that daddy bought his innocent little college child. 

Anyway, I am finding myself on all types of transportation in these quick twenty-four hours. I have never ridden a train or a subway. In about 6 hours I will have done both of those. I will have also riden in a car, bus, plane, and on a bike. Go me. Oh, I also walked all the way across the SFO airport because I was getting antsy and got off at the wrong bus stop 4 terminals too early. If you have been to SFO, you know the scale of my error. I walked from terminal one all the way to the international terminal. My knees hate me and are now refusing to take commands any longer. Seems like I will be crawling onto my flight. At least the frigid air around me is acting like a nice ice pack. I really dont understand how this weather doesn't seem to be affecting more people. Maybe I am just another one of those sensitive young gays. I am acting like I am fine, but if there are any scrupulous flyers in here, they will notice I am typing with purple hands and blue lips. 

I hope I can ride in a taxi in NY. I have never ridden in a taxi before. This is just a week full of firsts for me. I am also looking forward to reading The Hobbit on my flight. This really will be a great part of this trip. 

May all of you have a tire-smoke filled holiday season. Raise hell! Wait, don't, this isn't the season for that. Instead, go find baby Jesus. He is hiding in Bethlehem or something. 

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