Spring , 2015

I {Heart} Nihilism

I like to think I'm a decent driver.

I've handled everything from a moped in college to a 30-plus foot moving van. (I wanted to get everything from my "I'm sick of paying rent" house in Virginia to my "Holy crap, I'm paying a mortgage!" house in Maryland in one trip—I was paying helpers in pizza and beer and couldn't afford more than one trip.) Other than someone else hitting me, I've never had an accident. And, other than a few parking tickets, my last moving violation was when the national 55 speed limit was lifted in a few areas; I was sure it said 65, but I was wrong. A weekend at traffic school, and my insurance company was none the wiser. Heck, I haven't even been stopped in a quarter of a century.

But… records, even good ones, are made to be broken.

In order to haul the number of books I frequently do, I made a choice early on. Truck… or van. Trucks are built to haul a ton or two of stuff; vans are meant for lower volume. Trucks are open bed; vans, you can sleep in if need be. After consulting with friends in the business, I went with a cargo van, reinforced frame, two-ton capacity, keeping the back seats in reserve. Took forever to pay it off, but proper maintenance keeps it purring like a kitten. Until the clutch gave out.

"Why are you turning off the engine?" Ducky asked one evening while we were running to Costco.

"Hunh?"

"When you pull up to a light, you've taken to turning off the engine. Do you think you're saving fuel?"

"I hadn't even noticed." I paid attention at the next light. "Oh. Yeah, she's getting argumentative about downshifting, it's easier to turn off the engine and start it in first. Funny how you adapt without noticing."

He looked at me sharply. "How is reverse?"

I had to think about it. I back out of the driveway in the morning and from the parking lot at night. Twice a day, unless I have errands to run. "Same… thing," I said slowly.

"The gears aren't meshing cleanly, either. I can hear it." (He would.) "You need a clutch job, my dear. And, I'm sorry; the van is beyond my abilities. I haven't the jack stands to support it, if nothing else."

My usual mechanic had the same opinion. Plus a price tag. And because cars operate much like kids (one kid in the class gets sick, EVERYONE in the class gets sick), he was jammed full for the next week. If I could leave it Monday night, he should have it done my lunchtime Wednesday. Dinner, at the latest.

I hemmed and hawed. Technically, we have three cars, but Ducky's Morgan is semi-retired and he drives the sedan to work. He could drive the Morgan (or I could), or one of us drive the other and play pickup service—

"Or you could borrow my car," Charlie suggested over dinner Saturday night. "I know you know how to drive it."

With as many times as Ev and I took her wagon to events—yes, I could drive it. "But that will leave you with no transportation while you're in town."

She gave me a mock shocked look. "Metro." She grinned. "Plus I'll be at Papyrus or our shop half the time. Please. Take it!"

Charlie was in town for spring break. She had no interest in running down to Ft. Lauderdale and getting drunk (even if she could; she's still way under the legal age); she preferred to spend her holidays at home. At least this time we had a chance for a long visit.

Her first year at my alma mater, she had chauffeur service for Christmas break. Because she was working at Target around her classes, she didn't quite get the full break; Ev and Lily drove down, picked her up at 2pm on Christmas Eve; Ducky, Lexi and I drove her back in time to make her 8am shift the day after Christmas. Easter isn't as a big a retail holiday, so she wangled the week off and drove herself. She had helped out (paid and unpaid) at Ev's shop and mine, but there was something quite different from a used bookstore and one of the retail giants in the US.

It sure explained one of her bumper stickers, anyway. Show me someone with a deep hatred of the human race the red on black top half read. The black on red bottom continued, And I'll show you someone who works retail. To the left of that was a rainbow, Celebrate Diversity! Dead center was an oldie, Want a challenging career? Try herding cats! Evelyn had had a few of her own, faded by time and the elements. Charlie had at least a dozen; nothing too obscene, so I figured I was safe borrowing the car. (I didn't want the safety monitor at the school to report me. The woman has no sense of humor.)

With multiple thanks and a promise to return the car with a brim full tank, we made arrangements for her to meet me at Willie's Monday afternoon. I'd drop her at Ev and Lily's store, pick up Lexi from school and connect with everyone at dinner and go from there. There was just one slight deviation from that plan.

As I tooled down the road to Lexi's school I had Bill Cosby's "200 MPH" playing on the CD. "Rrrrrrrrrrrr! Christmas! I figure the cops are hiding in my trunk— " I laughed. Loudly. I love Bill Cosby.

Rrrrrrrrrrrr! I looked around, confused; it wasn't coming from the speakers. I glanced up and saw colored lights in the rear view mirror. Christmas! Oh, crap. I pulled over. "Is there a problem, officer?"

"License, registration, proof of insurance, please."

I scrambled for the necessary papers. After he checked for wants and warrants, he came back. "Sir?"

"Do you know how fast you were going?"

I winced. "I have to be honest. I wasn't looking at the number, I was watching traffic. This is my niece's car…" I trailed off.

"I clocked you doing 33."

33? That's two under.

"This is a 25 zone, ma'am."

Oh, crap. "I am so sorry. I usually drive a Chevy extended cargo van, a lot bigger and heavier… I guess… it just didn't seem that fast…?" I said hopefully.

He nodded and went back to his squad car. Damn, damn and double damn. Not looking forward to telling Ducky.

"Ma'am?" He handed me the registration and insurance card, and then my license. "You have a very clean record ma'am, and other than exceeding the speed limit, you were driving very safely. You didn't make any unsafe lane changes, you came to a full stop at every stop sign—"

Holy cow, how long were you back there?

"So I'm going to let you off with a warning this time. Keep an eye on the speedometer."

"I will! Thank you! I will!"

"And…" He flashed a grin. "You didn't hurt my feelings."

I looked at him blankly. "Uh… I'm glad?"

He laughed roundly. "Now I know it's not your car."

With mounting dread, I followed him to the back of the car. Right between Stop pissing me off, I'm running out of places to hide the bodies and Puritanism: The haunting fear that someone, somewhere may be happy was a sticker I had somehow missed. I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings! I groaned and my face fell into my hands as I read the second half. I was aiming for your balls!

I took back streets the rest of the way home.

The title is from a bumper sticker I saw back in college. The original is I (heart symbol) Nihilism; I laughed so hard, I almost drove off the road. FF being streamlined in terms of what you can and cannot put up, the heart symbol does not translate, nor does the less than sideways V-plus-3 (thext speak heart). It's wickedly funny to see the real deal. (I had a poster of 5 sweet kittens, the last one dabbing a paw in a goldfish bowl. I put a note overhead reading, "If you knew Sushi, like I know Sushi..." The same people who get the Nihilism sticker will get my post-it.)