I Always Thought I Would Run Someone Over While I Drove

The last time I was behind the wheel of a car, whose ignition was on, and I was the person responsible for getting the car from point A to point B was the autumn of 1998. I had just left a friend from high schools official college apartment, was hung over, and most likely had less than 10 hours of driving experience under my belt. The night before I was almost crushed to pieces on the way to his apartment while attempting to merge onto the Staten Island Expressway, from the Verrazanno Bridge toll booths. I was lucky I had slammed on the breaks as hard as I could and was able to come to a complete stop with about a foot to spare while the 18 wheeler that decided to play a game of chicken with me, unknowingly to myself sped past my car. I almost shit myself while breaking I was so scared. The next day I was slightly nervous about the drive home, not from the near crash, but primarily due to the massive amounts of vodka from the night before that was still having an effect on my early in the morning brain. I got home safe, and then didn’t pick up the keys to drive again.

I wasn’t scared to drive. I just didn’t want to go to Staten Island to see a friend or two, and didn’t see why I should drive around in Brooklyn or to the city to worry about parking, when I could just take the subway and the occasional taxi. After about a year of not driving, I was terrified at the thought of actually getting behind the wheel again. I wasn’t even going to move the car for alternate sides of the street parking in the event of me being the last resort. This is shameful for a licensed driver to have over his head.

Fast-forward to July 2000, a couple of days before I crapped my pants in Toronto, I was at Second City theatre. A bunch of people from a weeklong improve workshop, cast of Second City, and myself were boozing it up. Our driver had managed to have drink himself silly, and informed me that I was the least drunk out of the people he drove, and that I would be driving us all back across Toronto to various homes, and to the college dorm that I was staying at, he knew he was too drunk to drive, and shouldn’t.

I thought, Holy Shit! I need to drive??? I’ve had about five vodka tonics, haven’t driven in a almost two years, don’t know which way is which in this city, and I’m supposed to get us all home safe tonight while everyone passes out in the car around me?

I informed the owner of the car who had driven us to the theatre that I didn’t feel comfortable driving. At the time it was not out of respect for my alcohol limitations, but more so out of fear of driving.

Luckily we all got home alive and without any bumps or bruises that night. I haven’t come close to driving again until this past weekend.

The cheese and I went out to Montauk for a weekend away. The plan was to take the LIRR out to South Hampton, and then get a rental for the rest of the trip. Somehow I ended up needing to be a driver on the rental form, and I thought it might be fun driving around a vacant parking lot for three minutes at some point this weekend.

After the beach on Saturday, Cheese drove the car out of the parking lot since I was to scared I would hit some little kid running around the parking lot, and then we did what I considered to be the unthinkable. We pulled over to the side of the road, I got behind the wheel, and I drove though just about every road of Ditch Plains relearning how to drive. And I must admit that relearning how to drive is much better without a freak of a mother yelling that we are going to burn and die each time we got near an intersection, which was how I first learned the skill of driving.

Hmmm, maybe that had a lot to do with the whole I’m afraid of driving mentality I have had.

After a few minutes of making useless turns within what I image to be the smallest community in the continental United States (Ditch Plains) I pull up to route 27, and make a right. I told Cheese that I’m going to drive us out to the Montauk lighthouse. I made it there safely, and had even gotten the car up to 55 miles per hour, and I couldn’t help but hear Sammy Hager in my head screaming “I CAN’T DRIVE FIFTY FIIIIIIIVE!!!!” We made it safely around the circle at the end of the island, and I drove us back through town, made some stops along the way – I won a free game of mini golf, with a hole in one on the 18th hole at Puff N’ Putt, and made drove us safely back to our cabin on the hill.

For the rest of the weekend I was officially in the drivers seat.

I drove to dinner on Saturday night, drove all over on Sunday, the lighthouse again, to the beach, up hills, down hills, everywhere. On the way back to the South Hampton car rental place I drove to Syrill’s crab shack place, about 4 miles out from Montauk. It was decided I would drive the rest of the way back to South Hampton, and from there we would catch the LIRR and ride home to Brooklyn. This was our plan.

Our waitress at the crab shack disappeared on us, and we couldn’t leave. We didn’t have our bill, didn’t have any idea as to how much our food was, and couldn’t just drive off without paying. (1) We’re both too honest to do that (2) Syrill and his drunken friends would have caught up to us and killed us dead.

While we waited to pay the time slipped away, and by the time we got the car back to the rental place we would have missed our train, and need to take a cab to the train station. We thought, what about driving to NYC? We did some crude mathematical additions in our heads, and decided to just drive home. DRIVE HOME!

Cheese had two drinks, which was good and all, but that meant that I legally had to drive us home. I think Long Island is about 120 miles long or so, and we would have to go the entire distance – we both live in Brooklyn, which is the complete other side of Long Island from Montauk, East to West. I already had some confidence with my driving skills, and didn’t think that I was going to die at every intersection from the driving experience of the previous 24 hours, but I was slightly nervous about getting close to the city, and god forbid the city. About 40 miles into it, we called the rental place to verify again that it was still open, and it turns out that our first phone rep told us some wrong details, and we would need to drop the car off on 24th at 6th Avenue. Now I really was nervous about the Manhattan driving, since I’ve never driven in it before, and I don’t even like being in the front seat while going through the street of Manhattan.

Along the ride across Long Island, I went the speed limit, and at other points I went at the speed of traffic, I felt quite comfortable behind the wheel, and didn’t get honked at once on the long ride – I thought I would get honked at in anger lots of times. I was so comfy, that when I was at the gas station and someone wanted to drive right where I was backing into, I lowered my window and gave them the middle finger. I was finally that guy.

When we got to Queens traffic was thickening up, and I didn’t freak out, didn’t panic, didn’t do anything but kept driving. I had wanted to take the Williamsburg Bridge, and since I am not a usual driver of the city, and I don’t know Queens highways, I ended up at the tolls of the Queens Midtown tunnel.

There was no choice I had to drive through the tunnel. I hadn’t planned on driving trough the tunnel due to the lanes being so narrow, with the wall on one side and polls (similar to cones) in between lanes on the other. I got close to the wheel of the car like an old feeble person would normally drive, and found that it wasn’t that bad. About halfway through the tunnel I had the thought that if I had a choice of going out of lane, it would be better to hit the cones, than to hit the wall. I kept driving, and the thought was still in my head, and this tunnel has lots more curves than the Lincoln, or Brooklyn Battery tunnels do. I was beginning to become mesmerized by my inner thought of “best to hit the polls in the center of the tunnel.”

Then in an instant I hear Cheese make a nervous chirp sound, and my rental car rub up against the wall. I was fine physically, as was Cheese. We didn’t stop in the traffic, nor did any car around us do anything other than keep driving. We were lucky, but what about the side of the car.

Thank God I bought the insurance. I kept thinking I don’t mind if I nick this car, I’m insured. Sure, steal my rental car; I don’t have to pay for it, it’s insured. I drove out of the tunnel, up to Lexington Avenue, down to 23rd, across to 8th, and around to the rental garage. We lived, we did not die, I did not cause any accident, I did not run people over like I thought I might from playing too much Vice City, I only got honked at once on Saturday, and zero honks on the trip back to the city. I got out of the car, and looked at the right side of the car, and saw only white marks on the tires, and lots of dirt near the tires. No damage.

My fear of driving is gone.

I’m Only Temping Until I Win Mega Millions!

I don’t think that I’ve written much about the new temp job that I’m currently on. So, for those of you who enjoyed reading about all my complaints about the last temp job with the evil Vivian, this is for you.

It’s good overall. So there!

I work about 25 hours a week, have been going to a class in the afternoon 4 days a week. While I will admit that sitting in an office is a waste of time, at least they let my mind be used to help pass the time.

They actually have things for me to do other than waste the entire day trying to find something on the internet to occupy my mind with. They don’t care how long I am on the internet. They treat people like human beings. There are lots of free food in the form of pizza, cupcakes, apple turnovers, cookie, Carvel ice cream cakes, fruit, and sodas, a couple of times a week. I get to watch cranes and ironworkers build a new building out the window close to my desk whenever I feel up to it. I can chat on the phone without having to whisper. I am able to print out my college papers. I get to break chops of people on the floor. I get to type on a Bloomberg keyboard, which for those who have never seen one, they are colorful, with yellow, red, green, white, off white, and blue keys. Plus I make more $$$ on an hourly basis than almost all of the people in the unit.

The people & gossip!

I used to work on this floor, and in this same department for a couple of years, before leaving last November, so I have a good rapport with most people on the floor. There are some new people, and units, the new individuals have taken a liking to me, and the new units and I just don’t bother with one another.

This woman Karen (not her correct spelling, but it is her name) who used to be quiet as a button has become somewhat of a loudmouth, so I shall assume that she is getting laid on a regular basis.

Risa is still getting older, and more desperate in her search for a second husband, who MUST be rich.

Cathy, found a new man, and has toned down her “inappropriate” outfits since. I must say that I miss her prancing around in mini skirts and trying to come off as professional in a banking environment.

Vinny, one of my old bosses actually says “hello” in passing now. He never before did so, to anyone. Not even to any of his direct reports.

This guy Andrew, who had the ugliest baby last year, and who had huge picture of his ugly baby hanging up in his cube, still has said ugly picture hanging, but thankfully I now sit on the other side of the floor, and don’t have to pass what is now a full wall of ugly baby photos.

The cousin of my summer intern from two years ago is now working on the floor. I found this out yesterday after I sneezed in the elevator and we began a conversation. Before this whenever he passed I kept eyeing him, thinking he was familiar, but couldn’t place from where. I hope he didn’t think that I had been checking him out all that time.

Daria is now 50, and even more so officially skanky.

An over 40 woman had a baby, another woman, under 40 this time, is pregnant, and I wasn’t sure if she had gotten fat or was pregnant at first, so I just smiled and looked away, hoping that I would not have a conversation with her. I tend to say the wrong thing at times, and in this particular case I was terrified that I would ask, “When’s the baby due?” and have her response be, “I’m not pregnant!” Then have the most awkward ride in the elevator of my life.

Other than that there isn’t much to gossip of, except that there is a guy nicknamed “Woody” on the floor. A grown man, in his 40s that goes around as “Woody”! I’m guessing it comes from whatever is wrong with his legs. He walks all gimpy, and stuff, like he has wooden legs.

As for the floor and building itself, it’s now cleaner. The view I have usually is of northern Queens, the Bronx, and Long Island. Which on a clear day is a good view, and I can watch planes take off and land at LaGuardia airport. On an overcast day, like today, the view is just depressing, but like I said before I get to watch cranes, and a building being built. It’s the 5-year-old boy inside me who never got enough watching bit machinery get his fill, finally.

The only thing that is bad about this temp gig is that they installed a new “automatic” paper dispenser in the restrooms. It only gives out a small piece of papertowel, then you have to wait about 15 seconds for the machine to recognize that you have been waving your hand in front of the sensor and need more papertowel, which it only gives another have an inch. Then you need to wait another 10 seconds for another small piece of papertowel, which is about the same size as the first. This is all way too much time for me at the drying stage of washing my hands.

I’m Only Temping Until I Win Mega Millions!

I don’t think that I’ve written much about the new temp job that I’m currently on. So, for those of you who enjoyed reading about all my complaints about the last temp job with the evil Vivian, this is for you.

It’s good overall. So there!

I work about 25 hours a week, have been going to a class in the afternoon 4 days a week. While I will admit that sitting in an office is a waste of time, at least they let my mind be used to help pass the time.

They actually have things for me to do other than waste the entire day trying to find something on the internet to occupy my mind with. They don’t care how long I am on the internet. They treat people like human beings. There are lots of free food in the form of pizza, cupcakes, apple turnovers, cookie, Carvel ice cream cakes, fruit, and sodas, a couple of times a week. I get to watch cranes and ironworkers build a new building out the window close to my desk whenever I feel up to it. I can chat on the phone without having to whisper. I am able to print out my college papers. I get to break chops of people on the floor. I get to type on a Bloomberg keyboard, which for those who have never seen one, they are colorful, with yellow, red, green, white, off white, and blue keys. Plus I make more $$$ on an hourly basis than almost all of the people in the unit.

The people & gossip!

I used to work on this floor, and in this same department for a couple of years, before leaving last November, so I have a good rapport with most people on the floor. There are some new people, and units, the new individuals have taken a liking to me, and the new units and I just don’t bother with one another.

This woman Karen (not her correct spelling, but it is her name) who used to be quiet as a button has become somewhat of a loudmouth, so I shall assume that she is getting laid on a regular basis.

Risa is still getting older, and more desperate in her search for a second husband, who MUST be rich.

Cathy, found a new man, and has toned down her “inappropriate” outfits since. I must say that I miss her prancing around in mini skirts and trying to come off as professional in a banking environment.

Vinny, one of my old bosses actually says “hello” in passing now. He never before did so, to anyone. Not even to any of his direct reports.

This guy Andrew, who had the ugliest baby last year, and who had huge picture of his ugly baby hanging up in his cube, still has said ugly picture hanging, but thankfully I now sit on the other side of the floor, and don’t have to pass what is now a full wall of ugly baby photos.

The cousin of my summer intern from two years ago is now working on the floor. I found this out yesterday after I sneezed in the elevator and we began a conversation. Before this whenever he passed I kept eyeing him, thinking he was familiar, but couldn’t place from where. I hope he didn’t think that I had been checking him out all that time.

Daria is now 50, and even more so officially skanky.

An over 40 woman had a baby, another woman, under 40 this time, is pregnant, and I wasn’t sure if she had gotten fat or was pregnant at first, so I just smiled and looked away, hoping that I would not have a conversation with her. I tend to say the wrong thing at times, and in this particular case I was terrified that I would ask, “When’s the baby due?” and have her response be, “I’m not pregnant!” Then have the most awkward ride in the elevator of my life.

Other than that there isn’t much to gossip of, except that there is a guy nicknamed “Woody” on the floor. A grown man, in his 40s that goes around as “Woody”! I’m guessing it comes from whatever is wrong with his legs. He walks all gimpy, and stuff, like he has wooden legs.

As for the floor and building itself, it’s now cleaner. The view I have usually is of northern Queens, the Bronx, and Long Island. Which on a clear day is a good view, and I can watch planes take off and land at LaGuardia airport. On an overcast day, like today, the view is just depressing, but like I said before I get to watch cranes, and a building being built. It’s the 5-year-old boy inside me who never got enough watching bit machinery get his fill, finally.

The only thing that is bad about this temp gig is that they installed a new “automatic” paper dispenser in the restrooms. It only gives out a small piece of papertowel, then you have to wait about 15 seconds for the machine to recognize that you have been waving your hand in front of the sensor and need more papertowel, which it only gives another have an inch. Then you need to wait another 10 seconds for another small piece of papertowel, which is about the same size as the first. This is all way too much time for me at the drying stage of washing my hands.

America, Help Save Our Dwarfs

When I was a little kid, I used to see a dwarf sweeping in front of a huge corner house two blocks away from the house that I grew up in Brooklyn. I had always thought that he lived there, and I would later find out that he is known as Little Jimmy.

As a teenager I saw him sweeping up in front of a limo place up on the avenue.

I thought, “he owns the limo place?”

I soon found out that he did not own the limo place, nor did he own the huge corner house.

This was one of the first disappointments life had ever offered me. Not that I hadn’t been disappointed before being a teenager, but this false sense of reality went back to the point of me being a toddler. It is up there with my realization that my balls were in fact not filled with cotton, as my father had said in his answer to my question at age 4 of what was inside my balls.

I really wanted there to be cotton in there, and I really wanted Little Jimmy to own a huge home, as well as being the proprietor of a huge limo business. The contrast of sizes would have delighted me to no end.

It turned out that he does side jobs to make a living. He sweeps up storefronts, he gets dressed up in costumes at events, – I saw him as the dwarf Uncle Sam on ESPN at this years Nathan’s Hot Dog Eating Contest, I’m sure he does more too, and I’ve even heard that he has been in some types of porno magazines, as well as been to parties at the Playboy Mansion. These last two could just be packs of lies from the street, I don’t know.

I have no clue how old Little Jimmy actually is, but I would guess that he is about age 50, and just the other day I saw him, but he wasn’t his normal self. He wasn’t walking along the avenue, or sweeping, or dressed like Uncle Sam. No, he was riding a four-wheeled motorized scooter, the kind that old people use as a way to go about their daily life.

How could Little Jimmy actually need one of those, he’s too young!?1?

It makes me sad to think that one day I will never see Little Jimmy again.

Even though I find it sad, I wish I had made this realization about Madman Tony, who was an elderly man who smoked cigars, and used to march down the middle of the avenue holding a white flag, screaming “HILLARY CLINTON IS A MURDERER! A MURDERER!!! SHE”S BOMBS ISRAEL!!!”

The last anyone has ever heard or seen of Madman Tony was that he was being put into a straightjacket and taken away by ambulance. I didn’t see his being taken away as a possibility to life. It wasn’t fair.

Naked Toes On The Subway This Morning

Have you seen War of the Worlds with Mr. Tom Cruise? It has these aliens that roam around Earth in pods and destroy the planets inhabitants, and the aliens have longs fingers and toes.

This morning, a beautiful young woman was riding the D train with me, and was wearing flip flops. I had the delight to see that her toes were EXTRA SUPER LONG, and when I say super long I mean grossly wrong. At first they appeared to have an extra joint in the middle of each toe, and upon further examination I concluded that this was indeed a normal joint, and that it was extra wide. The joints on her toes were nearly twice the diameter of her toes, and length wise, they were two to three inches long each. For a moment I almost began to dry heave at the sight of her feet, I muffled word to my friend Jimmy to look at her toes, as I managed to gulp down whatever it was that was trying to escape my body and land on her toes. Her toes were so long I would not doubt that SHE IS ABLE TO PEEL ORANGES WITH HER TOES.

Sometimes it’s best to cover up.