This fine Saturday morning I got a ride to the airport from my work manager, his wife, and another custodial worker who needed a ride to the Des Moines Airport, my common haunt. I realized on the way I had checked my flight number the previous night, but hadn't bothered to look at the airline. So, it took me a while to navigate the check-in kiosk successfully. On my third try I found my Delta reservation and saw something kind of weird. My first flight was arriving in Atlanta about an hour after my connection flight to DC was leaving. My flight from Des Moines was delayed an hour (apparently b/c of maintenance I found out later). I went to talk to real people at the Delta counter, laughing softly on the way, and told them my connection was now useless. She promptly put me on a later flight out of Atlanta. Long story short, I had to wait around an extra hour, but it was actually a good thing. With my original itinerary I would have had to run like mad to catch my connecting flight (the Atlanta Airport is pretty huge, even for Gigantor). The new flight even ended up arriving early (though still 50 minutes late for me). I made it in time to watch my Mom's awesome choral concert, and I now have the happy fortune to sit on the chair of my childhood home.
See that wasn't so bad. Last night on the other hand, wasn't so good...at least for a quick moment. First, this post will be better (well it will make more sense) if you listen to this song while reading it (well watching the video will make it make even more sense, if that makes sense): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CD2LRROpph0
Last night I drove my friends Perri and Laura to Marshall town for dinner and a movie. The movie was the Lincoln Lawyer, which I ended up liking more than I thought I would. Actually I decided I loved it within the first thirty minutes because they used one of my favorite rap songs (an obscure one too) as background music. Anyway, before the movie we went to Culvers because Perri was really craving it. Somehow our topic of conversation turned to Rebecca Black's "Friday" (which you should be listening to now if you haven't already torn off your own ears). Perri has been fortunate enough not to hear it, so Laura and I were explaining it to her. My tagline for the song is "The song that answers the age old question-what comes after Friday but before Sunday?" We were of course making fun of the song, but then I made the realization that the joke is really on us. Yes people think the song is stupid, but they're watching it and downloading it and buying it just to make fun of it. Rebecca's gonna be very rich very soon. Anywho, the video complements the inaneness of the song very well. Especially when Rebecca hops in a car of thirteen year olds. Miss Rebecca, it doesn't matter if you kick it in the front seat, or sit in the back seat, your 13 year old friend should not be driving your car. Anyway young lady, do your parents know you're going to a sketchy party that will include a whole bunch of thirteen year olds and an adult black guy. So there is the background you need.
After the movie, I started driving my friends back to Grinnell. I still do not know what happened. Perri, or Laura will have to draw me a diagram. But I was trying to turn left, but had temporarily stopped because I didn't not want to risk hitting the oncoming traffic. I thought I was being all responsible. How was I to know a stupid stupid car would try to turn right into me? Perri says they were turning into the wrong lane...I know I had the right of way...we know that I didn't do anything wrong. They came about two inches away from hitting the passenger side. I really wish I had an eagle-eye video tape of our reactions because our screams must have sounded hilarious. Perri and Laura were especially nonplussed with the prospect of shattering their leg's or pelvic bones. At the time it was terrifying. And then the drivers looked at us with surprised angry faces like we had done something wrong, which WE DIDN'T. After the incident, (my car luckily no worse for wear) the three of us debriefed about the incident for a good twenty minutes. What were they thinking? What the hell actually happened? They looked like teenagers. A glimmer sparked in my eye--and I spoke--tying the whole evening together:
"This is what happens when Rebecca Black encourages thirteen year olds to drive!"
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