long drive home


I’m not going to talk about the game. I don’t think I have it in me to do both this and that, and I might not have enough for either. I’m going to just fall onto a flat surface and pass out as soon as I hit post. But I need to write this one down. Read the Twitter for other stuff.

After the Bulls game, was stuck in the parking lot for about a half hour waiting to get out the gate. Usual bit for the United Center, though everyone was super gleeful – the cut girls across the way yelling ‘RONDO SUCKS’ to every passerby were fun. It was nearly a 1:45 trip in before the game so driving was already lame by this point. But I still had to drive to Wrigleyville to drop off Mike (who may owe me for life for getting this ticket), then circle around back home out in parts unknown.

Let’s see, I took Lake Shore to (uh) 290 to 88. No real traffic, because now I’m about an hour behind Bulls traffic (and maybe a half hour behind Cubs? lost track of that one), but even though it’s flying it’s the slowest possible flying traffic in my mind. That game drained everything out of everyone there. Like, Big Baby Davis might have been secretly relived to get foul #6, because he was a zombie by that point. I stashed a Gatorade in the car for this purpose, but I couldn’t take the sweetness of it. My mind was switching to cruise control, so I smartened up and put the car there too. Last thing I wanted to do is get a ticket, and I didn’t want to honor Rose’s performance tonight by getting a speeding ticket the same stretch of road he did. Even if going 10 over on 88 means every car blows past you.

As I got off the tollway (at the non-toll exit – figure it out yourself), my mind started to wander to what I have to do tomorrow (which is now today – let’s call it Friday) that maybe I didn’t really have to do so the time might better be spent with sleep. The only thing I could come up with was ‘catch up on 5 hours of AAA’ and that didn’t seem too necessary, even if I haven’t been having a long internal debate about what to say about people saying stuff about Abismo Negro and – wait, that’s red and blue lights behind me, flashing, isn’t it? crap

Guy takes a while getting out, but walks over to let me know what I already figured, I was still going highway speeds for the really short distance I’d been off the highway. And actually, once I made that turn, I’d be completely legal again, but the 45 MPH speed makes sense for the road and my 58 didn’t quite work.

So I sit there, and I start to think, and it seems to take forever but these things always do. I’m happy I had my new insurance card in my wallet, I’m fretting about what I’m not going to have to cut out to pay this ticket (as if I haven’t been doing enough of that lately – that and more on the Personal Issues I Will Never Ever Write About On The Internet Again section of the blog), concerned that perhaps my license has expired because when was the last time I checked, really? They have to send you a letter to remind you about that, right? Right? Who am I going to call at midnight to pick me up when they pull me out of this car? Who might one day let me forget that they did that?

And then. The police officer comes back. He’s got my license. He’s got my insurance. He’s got a piece of paper. He’s got a band-aid on a pointy finger. Wait, what? He’s also got an apology for taking so long. His computer crashed, and he sliced his finger. Here’s a warning. Have a nice night.

“I hope your finger feels better.”

Did I really say that? I’m pretty sure that came out of my mouth, though I’m really not sure that’s something I should record coming out of my mouth. Or that the police officer heard me at all. All I know for sure is I drove the rest of the (5 minute to go) trip at about five under the speed limit, parked in my garage, and then walked into my door without remembering to open it.

This night had so many twists, I forgot the last one.

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