You might have noticed that recently I have been writing a lot more than usual. Part of this is the fact that my clearances are over; the last 6 months have incited a lot of nail-biting and worry that I would inadvertently say something dead stupid that would somehow cause my security clearance to crash and burn. It’s enough that I have six years of posts on this blog to trip me up — didn’t seem like I needed to add to the repertoire of my stupidity.
So, having passed that particular milestone, I suddenly find nearly a year’s worth of writer’s block breaking loose and I have ideas for blog posts in the shower, walking around my house, picking my nose at stop signs…wherever! I am overflowing with ideas!
So on my way to class this afternoon I looked in front of me (useful when driving) and saw this absolutely monstrous van:
Can you see how huge this thing is? Look at the normal-sized car next to it. And no, this was not a touring van or anything else — it was, in all ways other than stupendous height, normal. It was just really freaking tall.
And so I snapped a photo, and noted it was a Mercedes.
Big deal, you say.
Yes. But, this is a long-standing joke between Marti and I.
After Ben was born, my parents came to visit us and see their new grandson. Since we were in DC, we did a lot of tourist-y stuff and walked all over the mall, looking at more memorials than I can really remember (Einstein still remains my favorite). And then there was the traffic.
Let me explain to you about my father and traffic. If my father was Superman, traffic would be his kryptonite. You know THAT guy? The one who you give the finger to and he nearly runs you down to explain to your now terrified self that giving the finger is extremely rude and was uncalled for in that situation and that you are clearly an inferior driver that doesn’t understand the nuances of traffic law and that you should never do that again?
He’s THAT guy. When Falling Down came out, my dad (along with many others, of course) was incredibly sympathetic toward the main character, who freaked out in traffic before going on a rampage through L.A.
So it’s DC. And there is traffic up the yin yang. And I had forgotten (and Marti had never experienced) how my parents are in traffic.
Here is a sample of the dialogue:
“Look at that red Ford up there! He totally cut that guy off!”
“Hmmm, there’s a Buick. Nice car, those Buicks.”
“Can you believe that Beemer didn’t even signal?”
“Geez, look at that guy!”
“Can you believe this traffic?”
“There’s one of those new Kias. Ever drove one of those, Marti?”
“Oh, heavens, that truck up there crossed three lanes!”
And so on. And so on. And so on.
You know how you forget about certain idiosyncrasies people have when you are far away from them, only to be rudely awakened by their nose picking/neck twitching/fingernail buffing mania when you meet them again?
Well, my parents obsess about the makes and models of cars, and usually call out the model of every car they pass (“Now, that’s a nice-looking Chrysler, but I think the 1998 model was better, the tail-light shape was nicer…”) I had totally forgotten about this, but for days after they left Marti would twitch every time I read the name of a sign out-loud or called out the model of a car (did I mention that I join them, unconsciously, when they do this?). So of course I kept doing it.
So back to this massive van. I see this van, and immediately I notice its make: Mercedes. And I think:
Look at that van!
/Twitch twitch
It’s a Mercedes!
/Twitch twitch
Looks like a late model!
/Twitch twitch
Ever seen one so tall?
/Twitch twitch
And since Marti wasn’t there to do the twitching, I took a picture.
Wouldn’t want to disappoint him, after all.
