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••• Wednesday, October 01, 2003

My brain is sore
My thoughts are fried.
Upon eye balls
Soft lens have dried.

Work is crazy right now. A good kind of crazy that keeps me focused and excited but also occupies much brain space, even after hours. So bear with me.

I haven't done much knitting on the shawl, but it's now 28 inches long.

Go Left, Young Man
The clock is ticking for the Homecoming dance, October 18. My son needs to log 9 more hours before testing for his license, hopefully before the dance.

It's a pain in my tired ass to take him out every night for an hour's worth of driving, but once we get going I'm glad for the chance to have him all to myself and we always have fun.

I particularly enjoy watching his driving skills and confidence improve. He no longer waits for no oncoming traffic before completing a left hand turn. And tonight, he made what I called a "calculated but ballsy" lane change. It was no where near reckless, but indicated to me an upgrade in his confidence.

Each outing, I try to introduce him to experiences and "concepts" that he wasn't exposed to in driver's training.

One night I put him through the rigors of the Steak 'n Shake drive-thru. Negotiating the Drive-Thru can be complicated stuff. You must plan your approach, think about your order and ignore a mother car-dancing in the passenger seat, all without losing a side-view mirror. ::For a driver in training, intensity is the mother of competency::

His maiden drive-thru voyage left something to be desired, so I thought it best to revisit the exercise the following two evenings. That I had to sample three milkshake flavors in as many evenings was a minor sacrifice. But I'm his mother. I signed up for this. Off topic: Steak n Shake's Chocolate Mocha milkshake rocks.

Tonight's driving adventure included a quick trip to the outlet mall and a lesson in safe passage through the most notorious and unwritten of traffic dangers: The empty parking lot.

Parking lots scare me because there aren't any rules. There are no posted speed limits or lane markers. Just acres of asphalted danger. In fact, a roller skating rink has more traffic rules.

In a parking lot, cars can (and do) come whippin' out of no where, from any angle, at any speed.

Case in Point: Two cars heading toward each other at 45 degree angles, in a nearly empty parking lot. Speed is 25 mph. Estimated collison point: 200 feet diagonal from Chuckie Cheese main entrance.

Who turns first and in what direction? What if you turn toward each other? Should you use a blinker?

Stop you say? Okay. Stop. You both stop, and wait for the other to go. And wait for the other to go, some more. Finally one of the drivers starts to cry, resting her head on the steering wheel. That signals the other to go, with a finger in the air.

In a parking lot, you're only as safe as the next a**hole is intelligent.

It's vehicular anarchy.

Anyhoo, we managed to make it safely through the asphalt rodeo and enjoyed a quick run through TJ Maxx where I found some nice flannel sheets. While waiting in line at the checkout, I picked up a nifty black "distressed paint" picture frame.

The cashier who waited on me spoke with a thick Eastern-European accent. When she picked up the picture frame, she rubbed her finger over the edge of the "distress" and said "you see this?"

I said "it's supposed to look like that." She said "but look," and continued to rub it with her finger. I said "that's how it's supposed to look, it's the style." She shook her head with authority and said "Broke. Please put back."

I looked at the finger pointed at the pile of frames from which my prize was recently plucked. I thought to argue one more time. But I didn't.

Maybe there was more to this. Maybe the clerk was already on probationary status for letting "broke" goods get by her one too many times.

Maybe one more "broke" item out the door meant certain termination of employment causing a loss of immigration status which would, of course, lead to her immediate deportation.

I pictured her at the airport, carrying crying babies through a gauntlet of teary-eyed host-families as she headed for the tarmac, to board destination hell.

I put it back.

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# posted by Marcia @ 11:44 PM


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