I thought ahead this Saturday because of how draining last Saturday was, and I wrote my piece in the car before my shift. It’s Christmas season already, like it’s not, but it actually is. Christmas season in retail is like war you come out a changed person. A more hardened person. A person who’s feelings can only be hurt by themselves and sometimes crazy forty-five year old white woman (seriously ladies we need to check ourselves).
Anyway. I’ve been playing the license plate game but with my own rules. Only on my commute to and from work, and never trucks (I think this is an actual rule, it’s been a while). So far I have New Jersey, New York, Nevada, Florida, Pennsylvania, Quebec, Maryland, California, Alabama, Tennessee, Virginia, Massachusetts, and a government plate. It’s a game that is kind of low to medium levels of fun, but it passes the time, I don’t even take the parkway. I wanted to write about something big picture here, how I want to use these vehicles that we are all together but apart in, no matter where you’re from. Things fade away in the car. We are all stuck on the hellscape that is Route 17 in New Jersey (I would like to point out here that it is Route 17 not New Jersey that is the hellscape).
I like to imagine what other people do in their cars, like do they make up stupid games like I do? Do they judge other people’s bumper stickers as harshly as I do? Keep it simple people, no name calling, no tiny print because then I can’t decide if I should be judging you based on your bumper sticker choices. I’ve got time to kill on the road so anything to keep me busy. Being on the road has always been perceived as extremely romantic, and for some it is, they get to see different places and meet new people whenever they travel. For most of us though it’s driving back and forth on the same highway five days a week. We’ve gotta entertain ourselves somehow. I also judge people on their car choices, but in the opposite way, I like a good shitty car. I own a good shitty car. Spend enough time driving back and forth in Bergen County you get to know that certain types of people drive certain types of cars. Just like I can tell which zip you’re going to give me based on the way you treated me while I was designing for you. It’s a fun really stupid hobby of mine, and of course there are exceptions to every rule.
I thought I’d write about something light and a little catty tonight, this ended up being a different entry than what I wrote in my journal. Humans exhaust me. Sometimes I do not have the energy to explain what fifteen inches looks like versus thirteen, when you are holding a measuring tape in your hand and can very clearly see the difference. This was a real ten minute conversation that I had tonight, but then the person says something sweet and all of that pent up rage has to go somewhere, so it turns into exhaustion. If I could yell at one customer a month I think I might start aging slower, maybe my ankle would return to it’s former glory.