racing ride

Last night I spent the evening with Best Friend and her man having a good time in Sunset Park. We chatted, drank, cooked, listened to music and watched a movie (which I could not make it through because I have pumpkin syndrome- I can't stay out late and start to fall asleep at 11). Right about the time I could no longer keep my eyes open the DVD began skipping so I saw it as a sign that I should go home. Best Friend is always kind and calls a car for me when my eyes are red slits and I can't talk. After a brief awkward period of bare feet in cold hallways the car service arrived and I was happily on my way.

I don't like to fall asleep in car service cars because it makes me a little nervous. Sure I can fall asleep on the subway and not give two shits when I wake up at Coney Island but a "car service" just doesn't offer the same luxury. The drivers often have no idea where I live and it ends up being a " Choose Your Own Adventure" on the streets of south Brooklyn. I usually try not to give too many "turn here... OH OH OH you should have gone left" because that is really annoying and means I have to pay attention. I also had a driver tell me "shut the fuck up I know what I am doing" once so that sort of put a damper on my direction giving. Now I just let them do their thing, get confused, run me around and I zone out. I never pay more than 12$ for the ride no matter which way they go.

A medium sized SUV was the car of choice this evening and I climbed into the back seat and shouted out my destination. The driver repeated it and we were off. I like it when the driver just leaves me alone or even better is on his cell phone headset talking to the air about his girlfriend or shouting in another language. Anything that means I don't have to talk because if I am in a car it means I am too drunk and tired to take the subway.

Suddenly we stop short.

"Oh my, did you theee that! learn how to drive misther!"

The driver yelled out the window. I couldn't tell if he had a lisp, an accent or was gay. He pressed the gas hard and I was thrown to the back of my seat. He began to stare at me in his rear view mirror .

"You know people juth don't know how to drive, I mean they are idioth. I have several carth bigger than this and my mom always sayth..." that's where I stopped paying attention and decided he was gay. Talking about your mom with strangers- unless she is sick, in town or famous, to me is kind of gay (I talk about my mom all the time and she is none of those things- see gay gay gay). Coupled with a funny voiced lisp made it complete for me. Lisps on their own can't be a determining factor as there are plenty of straight men that need speech therapy too.

Unfortunately he continued on about driving and life with his mother. It all sounded like leaky tires and gravel to me then I began to wonder if he was hitting on me? Was he? Was he cute? Should I pay attention? Damn I was drunk.

Suddenly I was hit with a question of "Don't you think?"

I was caught off gaurd. I had no idea what he was talking about anymore because of my interior monologue and trying to decide if I thought a car service driver was actually cute. I did my usual car speak of "hmmmmm yeah, right on". Then continued the contemplation. I tried my best to catch a full on glimpse of his face. He didn't seem cute. I think he was about 35. The car was nice and he made sure to tell me about those bigger cars several times. Maybe he was all right- I'd done worse... right? I couldn't remember.

He was still staring at me in the rear view and this time more intensely. I began to squirm. I didn't know what the hell was going on or where the hell I was in brooklyn for that matter. I decided after an awkward 45 seconds and deep contemplation that I had to talk to this guy now. I decided to slur out my two cents on driving.

"I have a hard enough time with people walking on the street, let alone inside metal objects that can kill you- I could never do your job." yeah yeah, a compliment that will shut him up.

Silence and stink eye.

He didn't get it. He just kept staring at me, more than the road. I was nervous. I thought I had made a fatal mistake and I was about to get my ass kicked... or fucked - I still was not sure and I really wasn't interested in either.

Sudden laughter errupted from the driver "Yeah yeah yeah..." - wait was he on a blue tooth and I didn't realize it. I opened my half shut eyes wider to get a better look. No, he was talking to me, unfortunately. He then thought he was free to go off on a tangent- this is where it all went wrong.

"You know who really can't drive- the Chinese. I can't stand their asses. They park for like 20 minutes in the middle of the road. The Chinese are taking over! They were outside my mom's place and I had to park their chinese asses..." Wait- was I transported back to 1942? Is my Irish Nanna driving me around?

"Not like the Spanish are any better with their music blasting and..."

Yup 1942 and Nanna.

The guy wasn't gay. His racial tirade cleared up his lisp and he had a thick brooklyn accent. He was starring at me in the back seat to see if I was of any recognizable nationality (other than white) before he could spew his venom on me, not his sperm. I was really uncomfortable. I also was beginning to realize that my tolerance for alcohol was lower than I thought. I hate when people go on evil tirades and expect you to chime in. This has happened to me before but usually I can walk away or say something about how horrible the person is being THEN walk away. The key - I could walk away. This time I was stuck in a car with a racist Brooklyn mama's boy I thought was gay and trying to pick me up. All I could do was say "mmmm".

When it finally was over I began to laugh a little, then bite my lip, then laugh some more. I was THAT desperate for a second to think a poc marked car driver with thinning hair and bug eyes was 1. hitting on me 2. could be cute and 3. I was considering HITTING on HIM. Man I was out of my mind. I laughed out loud at myself again, this time not containing it- just looking like a crazy person. I love laughing at myself like that- especially in front of people when I look like I belong in a padded cell.

He looked back and gave me a "you're fucking weird" look, did a giant U-turn and wouldn't you know it I was at my apartment. I gave him a 3$ tip out of fear and he looked intensely into my eyes as he handed back my change and said in a low voice "Thank you thir".

Seems like my Irish Nana was there- there to wake my drunken half Irish ass up and say "You asshole, this guy is ugly- what the heck is wrong with you!". Oh Nana, always watching out for me in the man department with guilt, shame or a smack on the head because as she liked to say "the gays are a good people".