BUICK DRIVER waited anxiously for the elevator to reach the lobby. Overall the interview went okay, he thought. He kept reminding himself that he was doing this to be closer to home. Maybe my luck will change....
The doors motored back, and BUICK DRIVER exited, making sure to head left towards the parking area. He sipped his coffee, opened the lobby door and stepped into a sparkling blue day. The curvaceous blonde by the fountain looked up briefly as BUICK DRIVER approached, and she smiled. BUICK DRIVER fiddled with his wedding band and smiled back as he continued on to the parking lot.
Yep, his trusty steed was right where he'd left it. BUICK DRIVER admonished himself for letting the car get so dirty: what had it been--- two, maybe three weeks? First there were the rains, and those Santa Ana winds hadn't helped either, he thought. Whatever the case, the car looked more like a rolling dirt clod than anything else. As he began fishing out his keys he noticed that the left rear tire looked a little lower than he remembered. He made a mental note to locate the tire pressure gauge he'd left in the garage and check it when he returned home.
BUICK DRIVER opened the driver's door, tossed his briefcase on the passenger seat and dropped into the driver's seat. The sudden quiet was deafening. BUICK DRIVER exhaled, and glanced at himself in the rearview mirror. Well, he thought, if the interview didn't go well, at least he looked good doing it. Conservative suit with white shirt, nice tie, new eyeglasses. He chuckled when he saw his hair; BUICK DRIVER'S wife thought he'd had it cut too short. Maybe my luck will change, he thought again. BUICK DRIVER noticed he'd also left his suit jacket on. Oh well, it's only 10 minutes until I'm home, I'll just leave it on, he thought. In went the ignition key, and the Buick obediently fired up and settled into its usual idle burble, ready to tack on a few more miles on top of the 152,750 already registered on the odometer. BUICK DRIVER slipped the shift lever into reverse, backed up, and headed for Lambert Road.
Soon BUICK DRIVER'S mind wandered from the task of driving and began recalling parts of the interview that had taken place earlier that morning. My, we certainly talked quite a bit about mentoring, hadn't we? That we did well on, but then there was the part about--
OMYGOSHthatPOSFieronearlytookoffmyleftfrontfender...!!! Startled, BUICK DRIVER sat up straighter and watched the Fiero dodge right, left, then swerve right again into a driveway as BUICK DRIVER zipped past. The shot of adrenaline helped clear the cobwebs as he turned left onto Imperial Highway. STUPID Fiero..!! Fully awake, BUICK DRIVER'S senses were now on full gain. Unfortunately, his mind also changed gears to what HADN'T gone very well in the interview. BUICK DRIVER stopped at the next light and pulled to the limit line, his mood darkening. Couldn't they see the potential before them? Did they have folks with advanced degrees walking in regularly?? The headache that had subsided during the interview began to flare up again. His hands tightened their respective grip around the 10- and 2-o'clock positions on the steering wheel.
That was when BUICK DRIVER heard it. Coming up from behind and to the right, to be exact.
BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOMBOOM....
CHICK-A CHICK-A
BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOMBOOM....
Oh no, not now, BUICK DRIVER thought as an Impala SS pulled alongside, up to the limit line in the lane adjacent to the Buick.
It was painted a cross between metallic orange and root beer brown.
It was lowered, with tinted windows.
It had 19" wheels.
Lyrics blared forth from its stereo system, offering such striking commentary on interpersonal relationships as "...doing hoes in the butt with my nine" ("Dewey rows in the hut porcupine"??), or something to that effect. SS DRIVER leaned on the center console, his left arm extended, with his wrist resting on the Impala's steering wheel. SS DRIVER took in his world from behind Tony Hawke-wannabe sunglasses and from underneath a backwards baseball cap that appeared to fit too tight. Hrmph.
BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOMBOOM....
CHICK-A CHICK-A
BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOMBOOM....
BUICK DRIVER sighed. His mind took in the fact that the road narrowed from three lanes to two about an eighth of a mile further down, with the right lane merging into BUICK DRIVER'S middle lane. In an attempt to drown out at least some of the din coming from his right, BUICK DRIVER'S right hand moved from the steering wheel to the volume control. Instead of turning up KFWB News 980, his hand instead found the shift lever, and gently eased it into "D". Satisfied, his right hand returned to its previous post, at the 2 o'clock position on the wheel. Under the dash, BUICK DRIVER'S left foot kindly asked his right foot if they could change places. Right Foot obliged and moved over to the accelerator, thus allowing Left Foot to cover the brake, which suited him just fine.
Across the intersection and 20 feet above the roadway, the traffic signal looked down on the Impala, its eye glaring red with disapproval. The young driver behind the wheel certainly looked to be in a hurry, what with the little "rrt rrt" jackrabbit starts it was doing 'n all. The signal turned its attention to the dirty car's driver: he looked tired, but he dressed well too. The signal also noticed the generic Styrofoam cup of coffee in his lap. It was probably cold by now, the signal thought.
Suddenly, the signal's thoughts were interrupted. In a nearby panel, relays clicked and hummed. Electricity was cut off from one path, and electrons were summoned to another destination. "This way! This way!!", called the relays. The electrons dutifully complied, but found their path partially blocked by a thin filament of wire located behind a large green lens. Undaunted, they charged in nonetheless. Doing so created heat, and the filament began to glow.
The whole process took less than 0.6 seconds. The Buick, timing it perfectly, had already left.
SS DRIVER, stunned to see his fast departure usurped by the even faster departure of the Buick, laid into the throttle. The Buick was already ahead by half a car length. No prob, thought SS DRIVER, I'll blow this old dude and his dirty POS into the weeds, uh huh. "DO-IN' HOES WITH MY NINE...!!" Engine noise became engine roar. He smiled.
Back in the Buick, BUICK DRIVER noticed the Impala beginning to fall back bit by bit. The Buick's engine responded with approval.
SS DRIVER tried matting the Impala's throttle deeper into the floormat. Alas, it was already there.
One of Newton's Laws of Thermodynamics states that two objects cannot occupy the same place at the same time. This elemental theory in physics became starkly apparent to SS DRIVER, as his lane began to disappear.
Inside the Impala, SS DRIVER was fuming. He began to realize that (a) not only was he losing ground to the Buick, but (b) the Buick was NOT going to change lanes and let the SS move over. He quickly glanced to his left. The Buick's right rear quarterpanel stared back. The door was slamming shut...hard!!
The Buick continued a straight and narrow course in the middle lane, utterly boxing out the Impala. With nowhere to go, the Impala whipped in NASCAR-style behind the Buick, then hung there for several seconds. What SS DRIVER saw through his windshield in those seconds would forever alter his perceptions. He also learned many things.
In those delicious seconds that stretched into hours, SS DRIVER learned that BUICK DRIVER was a dad. This was apparent, because his child's Century babyseat was clearly visible, even through the dusty back window. SS DRIVER was so close, he could see the tether strap latched onto the tether anchor BUICK DRIVER had installed on the back parcel tray. The Buick's trunk emblem glared at SS DRIVER. Wha-- a Buick?!?
As his eyes traveled downward, SS DRIVER'S eyes widened, and in disbelief, he saw it: there, under the bumper, was a 2" hitch ball...on a large tongue....slid in neatly and secured quite stoutly to a Reese Class IV 2" receiver hitch, with a large 7-way RV plug receptacle just to the left.
SS DRIVER became livid. So livid, in fact, that without thinking he threw the Impala into the left lane and shot past the Buick, much faster than he expected. Uncaring, SS DRIVER flung the Impala back into the Buick's lane. BUICK DRIVER, however, had already lifted the throttle, and was gently applying the emergency brake so that the Buick's nose wouldn't dive as he scrubbed off speed, as the race was already over.
SS DRIVER smirked. His last maneuver had certainly showed that Buick a thing or two! It also effectively shielded the Buick, as SS DRIVER drove straight into the waiting radar guns of the local constabulary.
Two of them. In a Tahoe. One on radar duty, the other behind the wheel.
It was a massacre, worse than a drunk man with diarrhea trying to find a restroom.
The Impala didn't have a chance. BUICK DRIVER was powerless to help. Lights came on as the Impala flew past. The Buick slowed as well. The Tahoe flew past the Buick, its sights centered on the Impala. BUICK DRIVER wasn't even given a second glance. The traffic light ahead turned red, and BUICK DRIVER stopped.
In his mirror, he could see that SS DRIVER was already leaning over, digging into the glove compartment for his breathmints, which wasn't the sort of introduction two officers approaching from either side of a vehicle would want to see, especially when the windows of said vehicle are tinted rather dark. SS DRIVER would soon learn this firsthand.
A few minutes later, BUICK DRIVER pulled into his driveway, punched the garage door opener button, and switched off the key. After setting the parking brake, BUICK DRIVER grabbed his coffee and briefcase, and headed to his workbench, where he put down the briefcase and (now cold) beverage.
BUICK DRIVER set about locating the tire pressure gauge. BUICK DRIVER paused to reflect...he really hadn't meant for the Impala driver to get caught. But, he should have realized that the race was over, and that his flyby wasn't necessary. Glancing back, BUICK DRIVER saw his trusty steed, its exhaust still ticking over from the heat of battle. He eyed her for a moment: she really was dirty, he thought. But, all the work he'd put into her-- the custom exhaust, the cold air intake, the total rear end rebuild, plus a few other things-- seemed to be paying off. His eyes traveled over her lines, and along the emblem on the doortrim that spelled out what she'd been christened one day back in 1996: "R-O-A-D-M-A-S-T-E-R".
He then looked across the garage to where his other Buick was parked. It was freshly waxed from the last time he'd had it out of the garage, which had been the previous week. As he looked at the clean Buick's Weld wheels, BUICK DRIVER felt certain that, had he taken his other car to the interview today, he too would be having a discussion with the local constabulary right about now.
BUICK DRIVER put down the tire gauge and closed the garage door. On his way out, he ran his hand on the GN's fender. You'll get a new motor soon, he promised. He looked at the Roadmaster once more.
Maybe my luck IS going to change after all, he thought.
And the tire? It could wait.
The doors motored back, and BUICK DRIVER exited, making sure to head left towards the parking area. He sipped his coffee, opened the lobby door and stepped into a sparkling blue day. The curvaceous blonde by the fountain looked up briefly as BUICK DRIVER approached, and she smiled. BUICK DRIVER fiddled with his wedding band and smiled back as he continued on to the parking lot.
Yep, his trusty steed was right where he'd left it. BUICK DRIVER admonished himself for letting the car get so dirty: what had it been--- two, maybe three weeks? First there were the rains, and those Santa Ana winds hadn't helped either, he thought. Whatever the case, the car looked more like a rolling dirt clod than anything else. As he began fishing out his keys he noticed that the left rear tire looked a little lower than he remembered. He made a mental note to locate the tire pressure gauge he'd left in the garage and check it when he returned home.
BUICK DRIVER opened the driver's door, tossed his briefcase on the passenger seat and dropped into the driver's seat. The sudden quiet was deafening. BUICK DRIVER exhaled, and glanced at himself in the rearview mirror. Well, he thought, if the interview didn't go well, at least he looked good doing it. Conservative suit with white shirt, nice tie, new eyeglasses. He chuckled when he saw his hair; BUICK DRIVER'S wife thought he'd had it cut too short. Maybe my luck will change, he thought again. BUICK DRIVER noticed he'd also left his suit jacket on. Oh well, it's only 10 minutes until I'm home, I'll just leave it on, he thought. In went the ignition key, and the Buick obediently fired up and settled into its usual idle burble, ready to tack on a few more miles on top of the 152,750 already registered on the odometer. BUICK DRIVER slipped the shift lever into reverse, backed up, and headed for Lambert Road.
Soon BUICK DRIVER'S mind wandered from the task of driving and began recalling parts of the interview that had taken place earlier that morning. My, we certainly talked quite a bit about mentoring, hadn't we? That we did well on, but then there was the part about--
OMYGOSHthatPOSFieronearlytookoffmyleftfrontfender...!!! Startled, BUICK DRIVER sat up straighter and watched the Fiero dodge right, left, then swerve right again into a driveway as BUICK DRIVER zipped past. The shot of adrenaline helped clear the cobwebs as he turned left onto Imperial Highway. STUPID Fiero..!! Fully awake, BUICK DRIVER'S senses were now on full gain. Unfortunately, his mind also changed gears to what HADN'T gone very well in the interview. BUICK DRIVER stopped at the next light and pulled to the limit line, his mood darkening. Couldn't they see the potential before them? Did they have folks with advanced degrees walking in regularly?? The headache that had subsided during the interview began to flare up again. His hands tightened their respective grip around the 10- and 2-o'clock positions on the steering wheel.
That was when BUICK DRIVER heard it. Coming up from behind and to the right, to be exact.
BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOMBOOM....
CHICK-A CHICK-A
BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOMBOOM....
Oh no, not now, BUICK DRIVER thought as an Impala SS pulled alongside, up to the limit line in the lane adjacent to the Buick.
It was painted a cross between metallic orange and root beer brown.
It was lowered, with tinted windows.
It had 19" wheels.
Lyrics blared forth from its stereo system, offering such striking commentary on interpersonal relationships as "...doing hoes in the butt with my nine" ("Dewey rows in the hut porcupine"??), or something to that effect. SS DRIVER leaned on the center console, his left arm extended, with his wrist resting on the Impala's steering wheel. SS DRIVER took in his world from behind Tony Hawke-wannabe sunglasses and from underneath a backwards baseball cap that appeared to fit too tight. Hrmph.
BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOMBOOM....
CHICK-A CHICK-A
BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOMBOOM....
BUICK DRIVER sighed. His mind took in the fact that the road narrowed from three lanes to two about an eighth of a mile further down, with the right lane merging into BUICK DRIVER'S middle lane. In an attempt to drown out at least some of the din coming from his right, BUICK DRIVER'S right hand moved from the steering wheel to the volume control. Instead of turning up KFWB News 980, his hand instead found the shift lever, and gently eased it into "D". Satisfied, his right hand returned to its previous post, at the 2 o'clock position on the wheel. Under the dash, BUICK DRIVER'S left foot kindly asked his right foot if they could change places. Right Foot obliged and moved over to the accelerator, thus allowing Left Foot to cover the brake, which suited him just fine.
Across the intersection and 20 feet above the roadway, the traffic signal looked down on the Impala, its eye glaring red with disapproval. The young driver behind the wheel certainly looked to be in a hurry, what with the little "rrt rrt" jackrabbit starts it was doing 'n all. The signal turned its attention to the dirty car's driver: he looked tired, but he dressed well too. The signal also noticed the generic Styrofoam cup of coffee in his lap. It was probably cold by now, the signal thought.
Suddenly, the signal's thoughts were interrupted. In a nearby panel, relays clicked and hummed. Electricity was cut off from one path, and electrons were summoned to another destination. "This way! This way!!", called the relays. The electrons dutifully complied, but found their path partially blocked by a thin filament of wire located behind a large green lens. Undaunted, they charged in nonetheless. Doing so created heat, and the filament began to glow.
The whole process took less than 0.6 seconds. The Buick, timing it perfectly, had already left.
SS DRIVER, stunned to see his fast departure usurped by the even faster departure of the Buick, laid into the throttle. The Buick was already ahead by half a car length. No prob, thought SS DRIVER, I'll blow this old dude and his dirty POS into the weeds, uh huh. "DO-IN' HOES WITH MY NINE...!!" Engine noise became engine roar. He smiled.
Back in the Buick, BUICK DRIVER noticed the Impala beginning to fall back bit by bit. The Buick's engine responded with approval.
SS DRIVER tried matting the Impala's throttle deeper into the floormat. Alas, it was already there.
One of Newton's Laws of Thermodynamics states that two objects cannot occupy the same place at the same time. This elemental theory in physics became starkly apparent to SS DRIVER, as his lane began to disappear.
Inside the Impala, SS DRIVER was fuming. He began to realize that (a) not only was he losing ground to the Buick, but (b) the Buick was NOT going to change lanes and let the SS move over. He quickly glanced to his left. The Buick's right rear quarterpanel stared back. The door was slamming shut...hard!!
The Buick continued a straight and narrow course in the middle lane, utterly boxing out the Impala. With nowhere to go, the Impala whipped in NASCAR-style behind the Buick, then hung there for several seconds. What SS DRIVER saw through his windshield in those seconds would forever alter his perceptions. He also learned many things.
In those delicious seconds that stretched into hours, SS DRIVER learned that BUICK DRIVER was a dad. This was apparent, because his child's Century babyseat was clearly visible, even through the dusty back window. SS DRIVER was so close, he could see the tether strap latched onto the tether anchor BUICK DRIVER had installed on the back parcel tray. The Buick's trunk emblem glared at SS DRIVER. Wha-- a Buick?!?
As his eyes traveled downward, SS DRIVER'S eyes widened, and in disbelief, he saw it: there, under the bumper, was a 2" hitch ball...on a large tongue....slid in neatly and secured quite stoutly to a Reese Class IV 2" receiver hitch, with a large 7-way RV plug receptacle just to the left.
SS DRIVER became livid. So livid, in fact, that without thinking he threw the Impala into the left lane and shot past the Buick, much faster than he expected. Uncaring, SS DRIVER flung the Impala back into the Buick's lane. BUICK DRIVER, however, had already lifted the throttle, and was gently applying the emergency brake so that the Buick's nose wouldn't dive as he scrubbed off speed, as the race was already over.
SS DRIVER smirked. His last maneuver had certainly showed that Buick a thing or two! It also effectively shielded the Buick, as SS DRIVER drove straight into the waiting radar guns of the local constabulary.
Two of them. In a Tahoe. One on radar duty, the other behind the wheel.
It was a massacre, worse than a drunk man with diarrhea trying to find a restroom.
The Impala didn't have a chance. BUICK DRIVER was powerless to help. Lights came on as the Impala flew past. The Buick slowed as well. The Tahoe flew past the Buick, its sights centered on the Impala. BUICK DRIVER wasn't even given a second glance. The traffic light ahead turned red, and BUICK DRIVER stopped.
In his mirror, he could see that SS DRIVER was already leaning over, digging into the glove compartment for his breathmints, which wasn't the sort of introduction two officers approaching from either side of a vehicle would want to see, especially when the windows of said vehicle are tinted rather dark. SS DRIVER would soon learn this firsthand.
A few minutes later, BUICK DRIVER pulled into his driveway, punched the garage door opener button, and switched off the key. After setting the parking brake, BUICK DRIVER grabbed his coffee and briefcase, and headed to his workbench, where he put down the briefcase and (now cold) beverage.
BUICK DRIVER set about locating the tire pressure gauge. BUICK DRIVER paused to reflect...he really hadn't meant for the Impala driver to get caught. But, he should have realized that the race was over, and that his flyby wasn't necessary. Glancing back, BUICK DRIVER saw his trusty steed, its exhaust still ticking over from the heat of battle. He eyed her for a moment: she really was dirty, he thought. But, all the work he'd put into her-- the custom exhaust, the cold air intake, the total rear end rebuild, plus a few other things-- seemed to be paying off. His eyes traveled over her lines, and along the emblem on the doortrim that spelled out what she'd been christened one day back in 1996: "R-O-A-D-M-A-S-T-E-R".
He then looked across the garage to where his other Buick was parked. It was freshly waxed from the last time he'd had it out of the garage, which had been the previous week. As he looked at the clean Buick's Weld wheels, BUICK DRIVER felt certain that, had he taken his other car to the interview today, he too would be having a discussion with the local constabulary right about now.
BUICK DRIVER put down the tire gauge and closed the garage door. On his way out, he ran his hand on the GN's fender. You'll get a new motor soon, he promised. He looked at the Roadmaster once more.
Maybe my luck IS going to change after all, he thought.
And the tire? It could wait.
I think I have to say that I was surprised to hear you were in your ROADMASTER 
