Donny, I love you!

Nothing elicits silly panic and concern more than someone riding in your car for the first time. After all, you learn so many things about a person by getting into their car and watching them drive – is anything more revealing? You learn about aggression levels, stress tolerance, cleanliness and – perhaps most revealing of all – music preferences.

I have failed the test more times than I care to admit, and yet I NEVER LEARN. Countless friends, acquaintances and coworkers over the years have gotten into my car and sat down on piles of papers, CDs and change strewn around from a mad search for toll money, begging off my pleas for forgiveness with, “No no! It’s fine! No worries!” But I see their horrified faces. Early Depeche Mode or worse, Erasure, screams from the speakers. And yet, the trend continues. Messy car. Bad music. Unconscious screams of, “Holy Christ, you are fucking ASSHOLE. MOTHERFUCKEEEEEEEEEERRRRRRR!” while I gesture wildly with one or more middle fingers and cut across four lanes.

My boss, whom I really do love most of the time, has a wholly unreliable car – because of him, I will never buy an Audi, no sirree bob – that is perpetually in the shop. A few months ago, after discovering that the Audi dealership is on my way home, he asked me to drive him to the shop to pick up his car. Thinking of the Pigpen-worthy state of my car, I managed to warble a mildly enthusiastic, “S..s..sure!” and proceeded to run into the parking lot at lunchtime to clean it out. I managed to collect the most egregious of items into a box and shove it into the trunk. When the end of the day rolled around, I was able to escort him to my vehicle with at least a marginal level of confidence.

I did a quick floor check to see if there was anything glaring and opened the door for him. What I didn’t see was the fluffy white tampon that had escaped from its protective applicator and been poofed and floofed by its recent life of freedom, resting on the passenger seat like a fresh white bunny.

“Um, I think this is yours.” He laughed nervously. Meanwhile, I died a thousand deaths.

I had to redeem myself. Today, he asked me for a ride again. Since Abe made me clean my car last week AND vacuum it, let me tell you how confident I was in this ride.

Very.

We got in the car, and he immediately zoned in on the few CDs sitting on my dashboard.

“Cat Stevens, eh? Oh God.”

I didn’t know that Cat Stevens was THAT dorky until I was pointed to this article. Actually, *I* know the lyrics to ‘Peace Train’ thankyouverymuch.

I started up the car and immediately realized an even larger, more massive oversight. The CD player was on. Loudly. I had made a mix CD for my friend Sand and made a copy for myself*.
Track 9 reverberated throughout the car, bass cranking through the roof, while the boy band crooned:

“Oh A-OH! She’s my COOOVER GIIIIRRRRL”

“Is that…? It can’t be. Wait. Is that NEW KIDS ON THE BLOCK?”

I am ruined.

*Sand, it’s coming. I’ve just got to mail it!

8 comments April 30th, 2005