October, 2007

Somewhere along Route 58, the tomato fell away from my windshield and I didn't even notice it. After a couple of Guinesses while doing our "budget" the night before, my boyfriend decided it would be funny to throw partially-ripe tomatoes at my car in our driveway. It was funny, actually. Emphasis on was. Not so much fun in the morning when I had to spend precious seconds getting the sticky seedy flesh off my car. The only chunk I left was beyond my windshield wiper's reach and far too gross to touch. I was pleased to see my new-job-can't-be-late panic driving helped clean my car. I work at a school in a very wealthy community, and shudder every afternoon when I head outside to start my five-year-old VW Golf. While the car appears ok, it has the unfortunate and unfixable defect of spewing smoke out its exhaust every time I start the engine. Each afternoon I plan my exit from the parking lot very carefully. I ensure the least amount of people are nearby, then turn the key in the ignition and drive as fast as possible without making myself conspicuous, to the first speed bump on the long driveway. After successfully making it over each speed bump without something falling off my car, such as the muffler, I race to the next one, until I reach safe anonymity: the main road. All I need to add to my image is driving a car that looks like it's been booed off stage.