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Skyway |
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I can't think of anything to say. Has it ever happened that you just didn't know what to say anymore? That you just couldn't utter another word without being utterly sick with yourself? Is it important, what I say, or is just more crap? I want to think it has some value but the reality is that it does not. The things I say are only important to me. The things I think are only important to me. The things I do are only important to me. I don't actually know anything beyond that. That is all I am willing to say. The problem is that I find myself in the peculiar position of being here in front of this microphone each week and I'm supposed to talk about something and half of the time I can't think of anything to say and the other half of the time what I want to say is totally inappropriate. I usually end up debasing myself. I usually end up talking about things that are humiliating. And I don't know why I do that. Sipping hot chocolate, just
in from Ken and Gina's. God, how I HATE that ride over the Pulaski Skyway
back from their place. They live in Elizabeth and it takes me 20 or so
minutes to get home. But it's such a terrible trip, what with the speeding
assholes tailgating you just about every second of the way. And dead ahead is Manhattan and you point the car at it and go. I stick to the right lane these days (or evenings, actually) and I try to keep it below 70. Which is not easy. Everyone in this state - ESPECIALLY if it's after midnight - drives way too damn fast. I have never seen so many crazy, rude, stupid schmucks behind the wheel in all my life - except, maybe, growing up on Long Island. The bulk of Long Island drivers are a lot like the bulk of New Jersey drivers: always in a mad dash, not willing to perform even the commonest of driving courtesies - like signaling - because they just don't give a damn about anyone but themselves. Toady, I had just gone over the Skyway and gotten onto 78 westbound (which is a chore in-and-of itself, considering that retarded ramp they got going on to 78, the one with a merging ramp maybe half a mile before it, so as you're trying to get over to the right lane of Route 1 & 9, and make your exit, the unfortunate souls have to pull out and get into traffic). (My throat is scratchy. Hope it doesn't indicate anything is coming on. I don't need to get sick. Not considering how fucking depressed I am already.) Where was I? I'm in the right lane of 78 westbound, having just got on, and there's this tractor-trailer going maybe 50 in front of me. I decide I'll pass him so I check my rear-view mirror, see it's clear, hit my turn signal lever downward and begin my lane change. As I'm straddling the lanes I see this '97 Ford Taurus, gold, coming up fast in the right lane. I'm still straddling the lanes when the Taurus does one of those "no signal 'cause why should I tell you what I'm doing?" lane-changes and starts charging down on me, looking to pass me before I can take the left lane. This car is going like the proverbial bat out of hell and I have nowhere to go because the guy that was behind me in the right lane has now moved up, closing up any gap to which I might've retreated. So I decide to complete the lane change. I'm now fully in the left lane and in the rear view mirror the Taurus is so close to my rear bumper that I can't see its headlights. I look down at the speedometer and I'm doing a hair over 80. I can see the driver of the Taurus now - she's a fairly young woman, not even mid-thirties, with a severe haircut and nasty scowl on her face - and all I can think is, "Jesus lady - where's the friggin' fire?" Why is she like driving like she is? I shoot her the finger to try to get her to back off until I can get ahead of the tractor-trailer and give her back the left lane. But we are blazing down 78 and she is not backing off even one inch. So I decide to give her a taste of my tail-lights and I slam on my brakes. This gets her attention and she backs off considerably. Once I am able to get back into the right lane and bring my speed back down to a sedate 70, the Taurus pulls up on my left. We are about to have that moment, that incredibly intense, usually unrewarding moment where you get to GLARE AT THE ONE WHO HAS NEARLY KILLED YOU while TRYING TO DETERMINE IF HE OR SHE IS INSANE. And so it was that the gal with the severe haircut and gold Taurus pulled up shoulder-to-shoulder with me, glared in my direction and did one of those index-finger circles over her right temple. The international symbol for "You're crazy". "I'M crazy?" I thought. "What the hell is wrong with people?" I thought. Look, let me explain something to you, girl with severe haircut in the gold Taurus (with New York plates): when you are going faster than 85 on Route 78 and you try to zip around someone who's changing lanes (and is signaling this), it's conceivable that this person may be stuck finishing the lane change which has already begun. Don't assume people can move out of your way as fast as you like. And don't ride their ass if they don't. And don't circle your index finger in the region of your temple because people aren't doing 85 along with you. This chick proceeded down 78 like she'd been shot out of a cannon. She was switching lanes like crazy (all without signaling, of course) tailgating EVERYONE on the road, trying her damndest to get to where she was going. I don't know where that is and I don't care. But I sure hope she gets killed on the highway someday. THAT'D teach her. I saw something else while out driving today. I had just hit the apex and was coming back down the other side of the Pulaski this evening (morning), when I noticed someone walking on the right side of the roadway. He wasn't ACTUALLY on the roadway - or I would've killed him - but walking on a narrow strip of iron, probably two feet wide just off the roadway. It was weird. I've never seen anyone walking over the Skyway before. This man was carrying a bundle of clothes in his arms which at first I thought might be a person. Or a child. But even if they WERE only clothes, why was he carrying them over the Pulaski Skyway at 1:35 in the morning? What's up with THAT?! And while we're on the subject of a mystery destination, where the hell am I going, exactly? I thought by this age I'd know. I thought I'd be more settled than I am. I thought I'd be married and have a child. I thought I would be happy in my work. Or - at the least - have a well-paying job. But I am unemployed, broke and single. And I am not doing the things I should be doing for my future. I'm not even looking for a job, really. I'm not looking for a job as if my life depended on it - which it does. Aw shit, now I am depressing myself. And my ass hurts from this chair. And I just ripped the world's smelliest fart. And I think I have to shit. And I know I want to jerkoff. And it's late. And my throat itches. And I feel exceedingly empty. So good night, already. |
