{Fast Track to Freedom}

Oh the exhilaration of slipping out for a night on the town...

So I remember a college professor telling us about this kid and his "condition". During the summer he {this kid} would jump in his car and just get to driving. And driving fast. And wouldn't stop. And this was his condition. It was a bit of a problem. 

I wish I could remember the technical name for that condition, because I'd be claiming a mild case of it all night long. I mean, all summer long. Or all year round. 

I jumped in my/Yosh's car the other day. The sun was shining at a solid 87 degrees. I had no car seats in the back seat. And even better, no kids in the back. Some good beats were on. I was officially free. 

These factors became a cocktail of something strong and I was suddenly under the influence. And I was just driving. Possibly a bit too fast but I would never confess that. I would never confess that, because I do a pretty decent job of maintaining my ignorance- there's certain things in life I prefer not knowing. So I'll never really know if I was going too fast or not. But here's the thing, when you get the chance to just go go go, well you better hop on it. Because if you know anything about Southern California, it's that the 405 is a nightmare. Like traffic on steroids. And I had yet to hit traffic. 

Somewhere in this drunken state of flying down the freeway, I notice the "Miles to Empty" gadget slowly counting down, already in the single digits. The gas light was on, a ticking time bomb. And while the solution to this scenario seems quite simple, it wasn't. 

Because of my "condition". It took the simplicity out of it. Like, I couldn't will my little hands to turn that steering wheel to the off ramp. For the life of me. And the gas light wasn't the only ticking time bomb. 

The traffic. Luck had granted me a nugget that I had beat the traffic thus far, but it was inevitable, only a matter of time before the 405 was going to bombarded with cars and trucks of all colors and sizes. And a 20 minute gas up really equalled like a 60 minute pit stop. So the further on down the road I got, I was literally buying time. 

With that, I kept going. And finally, the miles til empty read....0. 0 MTE {miles til empty.} Now before you get nervous, let me explain something. Yosh sees that gas light flip on, and automatically is looking for the nearest gas station. Although there is a promising 27 MTE. Yet, his mission to refuel has started. Frantically. Me....I figure it's time to start looking for a gas station when the gauge reaches 0 MTE.

So I wasn't at all in panic mode. I was in keep-your-eyes-peeled mode. But sure enough, I kept flying pass every off ramp, sure I could make it to the next set of exits. But then I would get to those exits and they looked somewhat deserted as far as gas goes. This is probably a good time to mention that I have an uncanny ability to pick the absolute useless exits when looking for gas. Industrial parks and deserted fields. That's what I usually find on my first couple tries. But I wasn't about to be tricked this time. Not with everything I had at stake. 

So when I saw an exit that I would bet Yosh's life on that there was at least a single gas pump, and with 10 minutes of 0 MTE under my belt, I put my "condition" to rest and surrendered to logic. And sure enough, upon exiting, I saw a) that indeed there was a gas station and b) I had chosen a questionable part of town to take care of my business. Meaning, there were mucho cars whose tires trumped the overall value of the actual car. There was at least one grown adult in a wife beater. And for sterotyping's sake, we're going to assume the one mama there had her name tatted on her left female part for all to read. And no, I was not that mama. But here's the thing, beggars can't be choosers, ya'll. And I didn't even have to google that saying. So I pulled right on in like I belonged there and like I wasn't the least bit scared of getting robbed. And I wasn't scared because I'll tell you what, I would have gladly given up my only possession of worth on me without a fight- my irreplaceable $6 H&M sunglasses. Ok, maybe that's not true. I did have my wedding ring on. And I wouldn't have let that thing go without a fight. Like all my boxing skills would have come out to keep that ring nice and secure on my finger.

But I was watching my back. And when I had to hit up the little pay station in the middle and inject my debit card, you better believe I was making all kinds of untraceable movements with my fingers as I entered my pin code. Do you ever do that at the ATM? Like move your fingers all crazy so that the person behind you has absolutely no way of stealing those golden four digits? It's a dog eat dog world. One can never be too careful, which is why I carry tricks like this in my back pocket. Feel free to imitate. 

Because it worked. I got that gas tank nice and full and stepped back into my car with my $6 sunglasses still covering my eyes and sole rights to my debit card. Me and the Hustlers. I held my own. 

And once on the freeway again, I realized I was calmed. I sat there, Condition cured. For the time being. And with that, I drove- in traffic, bumper to bumper baby- the rest of the way to dinner. Where I sat and talked with one of my favorite girlfriends for four hours. FOUR HOURS. At which point we still had to peel ourselves away from each other. 

I love good girlfriends.

And I love driving home at almost midnight on a Monday night. It makes me feel young.

stalk AGNG: