Thursday, January 02, 2003

I was coming home -

I was coming home - in my car - across the bay bridge, full and toasty warm and moving swiftly to the compelling groove of some chunky funky mixes.  Traffic wasn’t bad but there were a lot of vehicles around.  The one that caught my attention pulled up alongside me just before the tunnel: an undistinguished dodge van with tinted windows, tired blue paint, and a good head of steam.  As it consumed the road and passed me on the left I noticed its bumper sticker: “DO NOT PASS.” Yeah, right, buddy, I thought to myself.  I’ll pass yer ass when I’m good and ready and don’t pull any dodge van attitude either.  But this guy had attitude to spare.  Even as I articulated these thoughts, the boring vehicle was accellerating, moving past me into the frontiers of darkness and traffic at a speed that I found just a little dangerous.  I let him just cruise past me, happy to give his bumpersticker more credence and respect than I had at first.  It no longer seemed to plead, “Do not pass, please, I’m fragile enough today as it is;” this was more like “IF YOU VALUE YOUR LIFE, YOUR VEHICLE, AND YOUR INSURANCE RATES, STAY THE HELL BEHIND ME.” As I came off the bridge I caught a glimpse of him barrelling along the 80 onto the Skyway and amidst the jaded lights of the dreaming city.  No one was passing him.  The evening concluded without further incident.