...beneath these tragic waves
: musings : past : etch : others : speak : h#umor :
roll on
May 21, 2001

(this is an entry from a while back that I never completed - even now - so I can get away with another Subway tale.)

As I've said before, I don't know what it is about Subway that odd things always revolve around my visits there. Perhaps it's because that's the only place I ever eat (in an attempt to eat somewhat decently) when I'm alone so I rack up a lot of time there in the long run. I've had a few different incidents happen there, not to mention the only time I've ever been in an accident (while I was driving) was coming back from Subway as I precariously balanced two meatball subs and drinks for coworkers. And my first speeding ticket ever which I just got Saturday (arguably my worst day since '97, except for a "chance" meeting with a very special person to me...which was hellish - to the point I honestly left the location through the open window - until I built my defense up) happened while somewhere in the dark recesses of my mind no doubt sat the thought, "damn I need a chicken sub."

On the way back from said food place a while back, Wynn Drive, the small road by my work, was oddly bustling with cars. It was like a mini traffic jam, which was quite an oddity for that street. Never had I seen so many cars on it. It's only about a 5000 foot stretch down that road to get to my work but it took a good 5 minutes. It's a small two-lane, and I was in the left while Mr. Impatience was in the right lane, along side me and slightly ahead. We were moving at a blistering 5 MPH when he decided he didn't want to stay in his lane anymore, and also that I didn't deserve a lane. He started to come over hard.

I don't use my horn. Ever. I figure it's more anti-helpful than anything. I know if I make a wrong move and I hear a horn, my brain catches and misses a few seconds it might have been used to avoid an accident. That's something I just don't care for. When I hear a horn, and and hear it getting louder quickly, I can't help but feel it's the sound of Death about to plow over me. Death is another thing I don't especially care for.

He came rolling all over in my grill (literally) as if to say "this road ain't big enough for the both of us!" and with as big a car as he had, I dare say he wasn't lying. In fact, his (before he got mine) lane wasn't big enough for the one of him.

Due to an rare disease I have which causes me to mentally transform images I see in the car into much larger and more abstract things than there actually are (like the wire stick figure on an antenna into a biker that I thought was about to ram into us), I folded up quickly. And in doing so I gave new meaning to the phrase "lean on the horn" since that's precisely what I did when I attempted to scamper out of my car through the window when I heard the honk of his behemoth car. As I got my first foot out of the window and continued to lay on the horn, I felt an odd sensation come over me. One I don't think I'd ever felt. Manliness.

Despite my horn's cry of "please don't hurt me!", I felt the hairs of my chest stand on end. And that's when I noticed I had ended up in the median because I was too busy beating my chest to drive. Not really all the way in but just enough that people could notice and say all the things people do when they think someone can't drive. Luckily for me and my wallet, it also was just enough so the massive car (which turns out was really just a Ford Metro) passed me by without a bloody collision of guts and scalding chicken breasts.

the redesign
As you may have noticed, I have redesigned. Don't get comfortable; I'm redesigning yet again soon. This new one is neither good nor at all me.

"unable to forgive; and sinking deeper"

devolve | evolve

.