Monday, November 6, 2006

hanging on the passenger's side of my ride...

There's something funny about life, I find that as you get older the role of your parents and you switch. Soon you become the one telling your parents how to dress, what to do in public, and that it's no okay to point at things with your middle finger. Today was one of my bigger moments as I taught my mom to drive. Well she knows how to drive and she drives rather well, but since she's with me for the next few weeks I was showing her my car.

This is the problem.

You see in the 2+ years of having my first and only car ever, I've never let anyone else drive it. Ever. It's the one material possession outside of my music collection that I value the most. I've never been so uncomfortable in my life (well not since I had inadvertently worn a dhoti at my thread ceremony). I've never even sat in the passenger seat before. I guess it was good to confirm that it worked well. But that is neither here nor there. After showing mom all the controls and where the lights are and had her readjust all of my mirrors (how lovely!) we pulled out of the garage... and this is where the funny part begins.

There is something funny about teaching someone about the streets in the neighborhood when you live in Jersey City. If you wanna show someone nice long stretches of roads to drive in well you've come to the wrong city. The fact of the matter is that while the area by the water is nice a wrong turn here and there can land you right in the ghetto. So not only am I slightly frightened about just being in the passenger seat to begin with, but the idea of driving by areas of endless liquor stores and and pawn shops....while cruising around at 15mph. I think Paul Wall said it best when he said "Drive slow homey / Ya never know homey might meet some hoes homey / Ya need to pump your breaks and drive slow homey". I couldn't have said it better myself.

Giving my keys to my mom was like the feeling every parent gets when they first hand over the keys to their kid, "WTF am I doing, they're going to ruin my pride and joy." To help with your visualization of the scene is the fact that before we left the garage I mentioned to mom that the navigation system can respond to your voice so all you have to do is hit a button on the steering wheel and say your commands aloud, e.g. "Go Home," and the car will tell you how to go home. So as we were driving through the finer parts of Jersey City mom forget she had to hit the steering wheel button and just kept yelling alound incessantly "Go Home! Go Home!" If you were able to bifurcate the whole danger element, the whole scene was hilarious. Luckily our windows weren't rolled down as we were cruising past the liquor stores otherwise her commands of "go home" could've been interpreted very differently.

Well needless to say we made it safely and lived. Sadly my pride and joy, the one thing which keeps me happy in the absence of having a wife, kids, and/or dog is not in my hands for the next two weeks. Drive slow mommy, drive slow.

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