Brighten Up My Life
One of the few good things about having a 4pm-midnight job in a glorified fishing village: driving home late at night, the streets are practically empty, no long waits at the traffic lights, no need for air-conditioning, no noise, no fumes, nothing to stress you out... for the most part.
One of the worst things about driving home after midnight: the few drivers who are on the roads are usually (a) drunk (b) teenagers (c) high on meth. They tailgate, they overtake on the wrong side, and they flash their effin' brights at you (whether oncoming or tailgating, it feels like a tiny vein exploding in your sinuses) and you really just want to stop, get out, and take a hatchet at them. Except, since they're on meth and you're alone in a tiny little car, this is not a smart option.
Another thing that didn't make my list of favourite things about driving home after midnight: the fact that my boss tends to choose the precise moment when all my limbs are involved in vehicular manoeuvring to make a panicky phone call (actually, ALL his phone calls are panicky phone calls) to me. There was a time when I'd hastily pull over to the side and answer his questions (which usually involved pages that I had nothing to do with, including his own), but the last time he called, I grabbed the phone, accidentally pushed into FIRST gear instead of FIFTH, and had my car cough and grind and die on the highway.
"Can I call you back?" I said hastily. "My car died, I'm on the highway."
"Call Darcy!" the Flint barked. For a moment I thought he was suggesting I call Darcy for help with the car, and I felt a brief twinge of warmth at this rare display of concern. But no.
"Call Darcy! Is Darcy there? I want to ask her something. Is she there? Call...."
"Sweet mother of God, Flint! I'm in the middle of an effin' highway! I'm not at work! NO ONE's at work! Now let me go revive my vehicle before I get effin' run over!" is what I... wanted to say. Instead, I said "Er..." and dropped the phone, which, following in my car's footsteps, died instantaneously.
Luckily for... no one but me, the car DID get started eventually. I got home safe, and reevaluated my cell phone. Yes, it serves to transmit midnight epiphanies on What I Should Be Doing With My Life to near and dear ones, but it is also the conduit for a constant stream of calls/messages from the mentally unhinged (Kara) and logically challenged (Flint).
And really, how many of these things are really necessary? Not to be all 'Survivor' about it, but does one really NEED electrically powered gates? Lawn mowers? Plastic cutlery? American spellings? Instant coffee mixes that taste like muck warmed over?
I need a holiday.
One of the worst things about driving home after midnight: the few drivers who are on the roads are usually (a) drunk (b) teenagers (c) high on meth. They tailgate, they overtake on the wrong side, and they flash their effin' brights at you (whether oncoming or tailgating, it feels like a tiny vein exploding in your sinuses) and you really just want to stop, get out, and take a hatchet at them. Except, since they're on meth and you're alone in a tiny little car, this is not a smart option.
Another thing that didn't make my list of favourite things about driving home after midnight: the fact that my boss tends to choose the precise moment when all my limbs are involved in vehicular manoeuvring to make a panicky phone call (actually, ALL his phone calls are panicky phone calls) to me. There was a time when I'd hastily pull over to the side and answer his questions (which usually involved pages that I had nothing to do with, including his own), but the last time he called, I grabbed the phone, accidentally pushed into FIRST gear instead of FIFTH, and had my car cough and grind and die on the highway.
"Can I call you back?" I said hastily. "My car died, I'm on the highway."
"Call Darcy!" the Flint barked. For a moment I thought he was suggesting I call Darcy for help with the car, and I felt a brief twinge of warmth at this rare display of concern. But no.
"Call Darcy! Is Darcy there? I want to ask her something. Is she there? Call...."
"Sweet mother of God, Flint! I'm in the middle of an effin' highway! I'm not at work! NO ONE's at work! Now let me go revive my vehicle before I get effin' run over!" is what I... wanted to say. Instead, I said "Er..." and dropped the phone, which, following in my car's footsteps, died instantaneously.
Luckily for... no one but me, the car DID get started eventually. I got home safe, and reevaluated my cell phone. Yes, it serves to transmit midnight epiphanies on What I Should Be Doing With My Life to near and dear ones, but it is also the conduit for a constant stream of calls/messages from the mentally unhinged (Kara) and logically challenged (Flint).
And really, how many of these things are really necessary? Not to be all 'Survivor' about it, but does one really NEED electrically powered gates? Lawn mowers? Plastic cutlery? American spellings? Instant coffee mixes that taste like muck warmed over?
I need a holiday.
