A Phenomenon Familiar to All X-Smoker/Public Transportation Users

Thu, 20 Aug 2020 11:55:05 GMT

Busy, busy, busy, as Bokonon says.

(I find it difficult to believe that I am the only Bokononist out of all of Facebook’s vast hoard of 2.7 billion monthly users, but last time I tried to look it up, that’s what they said.)

Who knew there were so many swastika-tattooed, Confederate flag-wielding bikers right here in FDR’s hometown?

Not the National Counting Project!

Which is why they hired me to get the lowdown!

To extract the required demographic info from people whose lives have been marked by complicated relationships with law enforcement and other forms of gub’mint, I adapt my Harmless Old Lady persona. That means I wear a dress and dither a lot. It works! One of my superpowers is that I can always be anybody’s BFF if I need to be. Given that I am a person with Serious Bitch Potential (which I exercise often!), this always shocks me a little.

Along with tracking swastika-tattooed, Confederate flag-wielding bikers, I am also discovering a lot of addresses that do not exist.

Did they ever exist?

That’s the great mystery.

In the summertime, hot and humid, the Hudson Valley turns into a jungle. If there was ever a residence between the Last House on Violet Avenue and creepy Kreutzers Food Store where everything they sell is some form of grease (cunningly reconfigured into potato chips, gum, lotto tickets etc), it has long since disappeared into an underbrush of Ailanthus, dogwood, marsh willow, McDonald’s wrappers.

The challenge appeals to the urban archeologist in me. I would love to investigate; discover the remains of an old foundation, dig up some Styrofoam shards.

But the National Counting Project has me on a tight schedule.

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The National Counting Project is not the big news, though.

The big news is this:

When I look at these pictures, all I can see is that the 15 pounds I’ve put on during the pandemic all seem to have migrated into my upper arms and stomach. (No amount of tromping can counteract the effects of non-stop comfort eating!)

But that’s not what you are supposed to be seeing, Dear Reader.

You are supposed to be looking at the car!

My car.

2011 Prius. Everybody should immediately run out and buy a Prius! It’s not just their beneficial environmental impact; it’s also because they make no noise and are fabulously well designed with an enormous windshield that gives an effortless 180° view of any landscape you’re driving through plus controls for everything you might need to do while driving neatly engineered onto the steering wheel.

Driving this car is an absolute pleasure. I can’t wait to take it on road trips!

I think maybe the deal isn’t that I developed a phobia about driving over the last few years; I think maybe the deal is that I didn’t like driving the Saturn Ion. The Saturn Ion has very limited visibility, so I really can't scan my surroundings effectively; plus it is a manual transmission, so I am always scared it will stall out in the middle of busy intersection.

The Prius acquisition has been in the cards for a while, but I didn’t know exactly when it would take place. I needed a ride that was safe to take on my National Counting Project adventures, and the Saturn Ion needed brake and strut work—expensive, expensive, expensive. But the work had to be done. So last week, I ended up spending an inordinate amount on Saturn Ion repairs.

The whole thing is highly reminiscent of a phenomenon familiar to all X-smokers who, once upon a time, depended on public transportation.

You’ve been waiting at the bus stop for 20 minutes. The bus schedule says the bus should have been here 10 minutes ago!

How do you get the bus to come?

You light a cigarette.

How do you get a fabulous new (to you) car?

You sink a grand into repairs on your clunky old car.

Oh, well.

Money. Theoretically, at least, it’s a renewable resource.

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Mallory's Camera

A Phenomenon Familiar to All X-Smoker/Public Transportation Users