Tuesday, August 26, 2008

I Get All My Best Ideas In The Hot Tub

What did I want after a 13-hour day at work? The same as anyone would. A meal, some relaxation, and a gallon of whiskey. What did I get? A TWO HOUR drive home. Normally it takes me about a half hour to get home, but tonight was special. That's one of the worst things about L.A. - horrible traffic jams for no apparent reason. I didn't see an accident, there weren't any lanes closed; it was just one of those things. The ride took one hour and 55 minutes, and according to Google Maps, I live 13 miles from work. For you liberal arts majors, that means I averaged 7 miles per hour on the way home. I could have ridden a bike home faster. If I were given cocaine, I could have walked home faster.

I got home too late to watch a movie before going to bed and starting all over again. I got home so late I didn't care about having any dinner. I got home so late I missed a phone call that could have saved the day. The only thing I had left was the hot tub. The blessed, blessed hot tub. Nothing is better at the end of a crappy day than looking up at the stars while soaking and having water jets beat on you. Those jets feel good everywhere (and I mean everywhere), but nowhere better than on the bottom of a foot that's been riding a clutch for two hours.

Even though my body was on autopilot in the tub, my brain never stops. And the quiet allowed my brain to devise many ways to get back at all the people in the traffic jam with me. Because when you're in a situation like that, you begin to hate the people in front of you, behind you, and on either side of you. They're in the same boat as you are, but you become convinced that everything is their fault. A guy in front of me pulled into the left lane at the last minute to make a turn and left his ass end in part of my lane, and I screamed things at him that implied he enjoyed relations with other people's mothers. So fresh from the hot tub, here are some things I felt like doing to all these people conspiring to keep me from getting home:

1. Making an appointment for him at a sperm bank and providing only a calendar entitled "The Ladies Of The 1984 East German Olympic Team" (not pictured: Katarina Witt.)

2. At the next red light, stealing his CDs and replacing them all with Prattle And Hum: The Best Of Bono's Between-Song Patter About Starving Africans.

3. Cutting in front of him and slowing to 3 miles per hour, keeping him from accelerating to his top speed of 7.

4. Installing Speed Racer-style saws in my car and cutting his tires to ribbons.

5. Banana in the tailpipe.

12 metawords:

Dr Zibbs said...

To piss off people behind me I like to squirt my windshield wiper fluid. Works great when thee's some sun glare.

Falwless said...

Awwww, I'm sorry you had an awful ride home.

Also, that's what you get for living in L.A., sucka.

I totally know what you mean, though, about starting to loathe the people around you when stuck in traffic. In that situation you start out sort of calm but the descent into irrational rage happens so quickly you barely notice it. Soon enough you're seething at the smallest little things ("I fucking hate that Explorer with the fucking Grateful Dead stickers. Look at that hippy asshole, just sitting there with his two car lengths between him and that Corolla in front of him, like he's the king of the fucking world. No, no, really, King Of The Highways, please, take whatever fucking global space you wish, your fucking heiness.").

Good times.

Dave H said...

Four words:

Spy.

Hunter.

Oil.

Slick.

Some Guy said...

Sounds to me like you need to get yourself some sort of mobile hot tub. That way you can employ these ideas immediately while you're on the road.

Red said...

I imagine the only city in the universe I hate more than LA is, oh I dunno, somewhere they still practice female circumcision. I hate LA.

ÄsK AliCë said...

Oh Fawl - your road rage rant made me choke a little

As for you www, you should take some battle-preperation tools into the tub. Roadmap, red marker, highlighter, push-pins and a tape recorder. Trust Me.

ÄsK AliCë said...

I meant Falw

Fuck I'm an idiot

Gwen said...

Just think how fast you'd have gone with a bike AND coke.

Zooooooom!

words words words said...

Zibbs: Does your windshield wiper fluid dispenser take steroids?

Fal: It's not nice to leave a comment funnier than the entry.

Dave: Ah, I loved that game. And modifications are underway.

Some Guy: As soon as my rap career takes off, that's the first purchase.

Red: We all can't live in America's Finest City. Besides, not two months ago I perf...saw a female circumcision in La Jolla. So there.

Alice: It's crowded enough in my tub with all the...you know, I should stop right there.

Gwen: I think you just invented the best Olympic event ever!

BeckEye said...

You have a hot tub?

You know, I don't think I've ever told you what a nice, charming, handsome fellow you are.

words words words said...

Beck: I've noticed that too, to my consternation. I'm afraid there's a six-month wait for the hot tub.

Lyla Lou said...

Blehhhhh, I hate traffic. It's the worst. It takes me about an hour to get home everday, but it would only be 20 mins if there were no traffic. My commute is about to get even longer.

I hate sitting next to people in traffic, I always manage to look over right when they pick their nose and I gag.