Escape pod or prison on wheels?
Many a time in my life I have felt the sweet relief of freedom as I jump into my car. The ability to direct one’s travels in very liberating. Those people who have had to go without their vehicle for some time quickly feel burdened by having to wait for someone else.
But there are those moments when that same car can make you feel trapped.
Yesterday I left work at my usual time (5 p.m. that is, not the under-project-pressure time of after 7, 8, 9). As always I found myself sitting waiting for the traffic light at the end of Knutsford Boulevard. Eventually I was the second car from the front. The light had just gone red so I whipped out my cellphone to make a call. Unfortunately this meant I did not notice the indigent fellow approaching my car. His hand out, he began to ask for some money. I politely responded that I had nothing to give him (perfectly true unless he takes credit cards).
He continued to ask. I shook my head, began to scowl, flashed my hand at him as he continued to plead his case. Well, I guess he saw an opportunity. He leaned on my window and proceeded to shout through the closed window. The general gist was how much he loved me and my “ripe breasts”. I would laugh if I had not been feeling so very trapped and violated as there was nothing I could do.
Luckily the light changed shortly thereafter and I was able to move off. But my skin was crawling all the way home.
Is it any wonder I refuse to drive with my windows down, and burn AC all the time when it’s cool outside?
