As jumping in the cars of complete strangers is a regular compulsion of mine, I thought I'd save m'self $3.10 a day by participating in Casual Carpool.
On the day that would mark my first foray into the land of eco-transport-hookerdom last week, I wave into the passenger window of the luxury car of some older gent and hop in. Leather seats, 102.1 playing some retarded Haydn symphony. "Hi, I'm Ben!"
"Hi, I'm K--." We get to talking for a while. In jumps this gust of wind. No hello --- just a damn booch in a black powersuit saying, "Okay, let's go."
"Hi, I'm Ben," I offer.
Her: "Oh, that is so surprising since usually people don't bother to introduce themselves in this thing. I am A---, yes that is a Russian name, yes this neighborhood is full of Russians."
K: "Hi, I'm K--. Ben and I were just discussing what we do for work --- what do you do?"
A: "Oh, I work for Charles Schwab. Yes, and I always go around walking in this neighborhood and I am always so jealous of the other women who walk around drinking coffee while their kids are at day care and I am wondering, 'What do you do for work?' I have a 5-year-old in school and so when I drop him off I see all these other women who don't have jobs and I am thinking, 'What kind of neighborhood do I live in?'"
K: "Oh, what school?"
A: "Kaiser Elementary. I don't know why the people in my neighborhood won't use the public school simply because they have enough money to send their children to private school. And because I am not spending my money on private school I bring fresh fruit to my son's class every day and no other parents there and I am thinking, 'If five kids from my neighborhood would be in this class, this would be an excellent class.'"
K reads my mind.
K: "Well, poor families do not mean . . ."
A: "Yes but I am thinking that if only FIVE kids from MY neighborhood would be in this class, it would be (kisses hand) an EXCELLENT class. I don't know what is wrong with the people in my neighborhood. I mean, these poor people who are in the class don't care."
I'm just staring out the window muffling my giggles.
K: "So . . . you're from Russia?"
A: "No I am not Russian. I am Jewish."
K: "Oh, are you going to Rosh Hashanah service?"
A: "No, I am not Jewish at all. I will probably eat a challah. I don't believe in that crap."
K: "Oh, so you . . . are culturally Jewish?"
A: "Oh no, I know nothing about it."
K: "Oh . . ."
A: "But I feel that I must think about it. You know that the Nazis killed my people, right? You know that every day my grandmother lights a candle because her youngest son was killed fighting against the Nazis and he gave false papers to fight in the army saying he was eighteen but he was really sixteen and I see her tears every day so really I AM FORCED TO THINK ABOUT THIS, AND THE HORRIBLE, HORRIBLE THINGS THAT HAPPENED AND IT IS TRULY A CRUEL, INHUMANE THING THAT HAPPENED AND I FEEL IT IS AN OBLIGATION FOR US TO REALIZE WHAT HAS HAPPENED AND SO I MUST OBSERVE IT."
K: "Okay, so of course you feel this is important culturally . . ."
A: "Oh no, I am not Jewish. I know nothing about it."
K has to answer a call. Ain't none of my business.
K: "Hello? Oh yes, dad's doing better, looks like he doesn't need me to stay the night tonight." Then his reception goes bad.
A: "Ah, ah hah!" Oh no, you are NOT about to acknowledge that you are listening in to his call. "Ah, what's wrong, bad reception? So, your dad is sick? How old is he? Where do you live?"
K has to change lanes to make it over to the carpool lane. I know that everyone hates receiving driving advice in the middle of driving, if ever, no matter how needed it is. I keep my damn trap shut.
A: "GO, NOW, GO!"
K's phone rings again.
A: "Oh, hah hah! Maybe you press this button this time! Hope your dad is okay! How old are you?"
We're getting off the bridge and approaching Market Street. A is going to get off a block before her office building.
A: "I can't walk the one block. HA HA HA! I mean look at these shoes!" NO LOOK! See, my boss is in Chicago and she doesn't care what I wear anyway so I am wearing Birkenstocks in the office yesterday and my co-worker comes up to me and says, 'That's it, we're going shoe shopping!' Oh, and here I am."
She's gone, and I could see where my heavy exhale makes a cloud on the backseat window.
I'm fully expecting K to let it all out. He'd never tell her to her face that she's a loudmouthed insensitive hypocritical intolerant hobag.
K: "A--- sure is a beautiful young lady, isn't she?"
I'm searching for the grin. I'm searching for the wink. Or the, "'Cept she got enough hair down there to grow a jheri curl, but I ain't one to talk, so you ain't hear nuthin' from me."
K: "Her husband sure is one lucky man."
Me: . . . *flabbergasted* . . . "Uh . . . yeah, vivacious."
( Full, un-cut story and review at http://bart-lj.livejournal.com/1779.html ) read more