It was like my car was taking a golden shower on my finger. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
The day was crisp. Birds were announcing the arrival of the sun. Early morning joggers were taking to the streets. I awoke from some surreal dream and looked at the clock.
"It's Sunday," I thought to myself. "Sweet."
It's not that I meant to crash into my coworker's car. It's just that, well, there was something distracting me. So it really wasn't my fault. Really, it wasn't.
Allow me to explain.
There are a lot of fucking idiots on the streets, pardon my French. So it's a matter of necessity that you employ defensive driving techniques, lest you end up being a maroon smear on the pavement. I say this because I've had to share the road with such idiots in the rain in both San Francisco and NYC these last couple of weeks.
Over the years, I've found myself unconsciously acting on certain defensive patterns while driving. So I decided to write them down here. Maybe one day, these will become lessons I pass onto my kids.
Or maybe one day, I'll write a book, get filthy rich, then hire a chauffeur so I never have to deal with those fucking idiots on the streets anymore.
So Mom, here's how it went down.
I met her at Golden Gate Park one weekend. I was just chilling near the Conservatory of Flowers, reading a book. She came over and sat down next to me. I looked up and smiled at her; she smiled back.
Please help me explain this. I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable and realistic explanation for it.
On Friday night, April 9th, 2004, at about 11:17pm PST, I was traveling northbound on the US-101. I was right next to the San Francisco International Airport (SFO) and was about to make my way to the US-380 entrance.
You ever have one of those days?
You know, one of those days where nothing seems to be going right? And you just know it's going to be a bad day?
It happened again. A-fucking-gain.
I saw the trunk of my car wide open as I walked towards it. The small rear window was smashed. Shards of glass glittered in the back seat. Maps and other contents of my glove compartment decorated the front seats.
I looked in my trunk. It was stark empty. Hollow.
"Do you believe in guardian angels?"
Thomas shifts his glasses. "Guardian angels?" he replies, arching his brow.
"Yea. I sometimes wonder if I have one." The car in front of us comes to a stop and I take the moment to look up at the blue sky. "I've been in enough near-accidents in my car that I sometimes wonder if there's someone up above looking after me as I drive."
"It was torn off by a hooker," the owner of the used car told me. I didn't ask why a hooker would want to tear off his mirror—and really didn't want to know either.
Thus went my search for a used car.
Weekly random rambles, musings & writings of Mike Lee in San Francisco, CA