Chinese Fire Drills, A Creepy Farter and Quebec
No one does Chinese Fire Drills out of necessity. We do them because we are dumb teenagers or dumb middle schoolers with our friends' even dumber parents and we want to be CRAZY for a whopping 37 seconds in the middle of traffic, when it's dark outside and inevitably warm (because no one's getting out of the car when it's 30 degrees outside in Northern Virginia, we don't even drive in snow flurries, unless we are desperate for milk and bread and toilet paper).
But when we hit a light last Friday night and Morrison asked if I wanted to do a Chinese Fire Drill, she wasn't asking Lizzie and I if we wanted to get wild and crazy, she wanted to put an end to the craziness of my driving. I've never felt so relieved. And then the light turned green and I had to keep driving—intense panic.
After a year in NYC, not only do I drive like my grandma (I was terrified of her driving when I was little), but i am now terrified of driving, just like my mom. Lucky for my sister I haven't started pumping the break; a little driving technique of my mom'S that makes my sister very car sick. Unlucky for everyone else on the road: These days I drive under the speed limit and I don't even notice, until people pass me, which happens on a regular basis, three or four times in a 15 minute drive to Ballston from McLean.
While I haven't been a regular driver for over a year, I do have a new New York driver's license, which receives lots of comments from Virginians: "That's weird, flimsy...it looks fake.""Where's your birthday on here?" "Wow you're an organ donor." And all I really want to say back is "Check out just how fat I look! I look so bad right?!?!" And with that New York driver's license, I've been home six times since Christmas, six times since i freaked out Katie on our road trip to Kelly's wedding. Six times in three months means I should be getting better, right?
WRONG!
I suck. I suck! And I suck even worse when Mo and Lizzie the back seat driver are giving me conflicting directions to Georgetown from Mo's apartment on x95s and parkways and one way streets. So when we stopped and Mo suggested a Chinese Fire Drill, and I say, "YES! Thank god! I was thinking the same thing! I can't drive anymore! It's toooo scary!!!!"...and then the light turns green. So I yell at everyone to get back in and pull over ASAP. Lizzie says she'll drive and Mo says, "No way, you drive too fast so you can't drive Bridget's Dad's car." Lizzie concedes, but is already jumping in the front seat to give directions (it is a Chinese Fire Drill) and yells, "Grandma! YOU get in the back seat."
When I slam the door of the backseat, I'm overcome, overcome with relief. The back seat is where i belong.
And then I start getting worried that Mo is going to get in accident, because that's next on the bad things that could what happen chain of events. So we get to Georgetown safely, phew, and Mo "I love my Jack Russell Terrier Mini Cooper License Plate Holding Loser" rrison is parallel parking my dad's Mercury Sable and she love taps the royal blue car parked behind us, that's less a love tap and more of a hit I'd take on a guy that broke my heart kind of tap.
And when Morrison and Lizzie turn around my head's in my hands and I say, "I knew this was going to happen."
Granted I always overreact so it probably wasn't that bad and there was no damage done to either car.
Sadly, our noses did not make it through the night unscathed.
Creepy old dude whose 13 and 15 year-old kids are sitting at the bar is trying to make small talk (please notice how the words "hit on" were not used, I don't want to vomit)..."blah blah slur slur do you have kids?"... us: "No."...a good 5 minutes go by and someone lets one rip..."Having kids was the best thing I've ever done! slur slur as long as they're not little brats"....FART FART FART slur slur slur FART...Lizzie goes into hysterics....15 minutes later..."My kids think I'm the coolest slur"...more and more and more and MORE farting...Lizzie and the bartender discover that they have something in common, their favorite province of Canada is, in fact, Quebec.
And all this happened in one hour.
But when we hit a light last Friday night and Morrison asked if I wanted to do a Chinese Fire Drill, she wasn't asking Lizzie and I if we wanted to get wild and crazy, she wanted to put an end to the craziness of my driving. I've never felt so relieved. And then the light turned green and I had to keep driving—intense panic.
After a year in NYC, not only do I drive like my grandma (I was terrified of her driving when I was little), but i am now terrified of driving, just like my mom. Lucky for my sister I haven't started pumping the break; a little driving technique of my mom'S that makes my sister very car sick. Unlucky for everyone else on the road: These days I drive under the speed limit and I don't even notice, until people pass me, which happens on a regular basis, three or four times in a 15 minute drive to Ballston from McLean.
While I haven't been a regular driver for over a year, I do have a new New York driver's license, which receives lots of comments from Virginians: "That's weird, flimsy...it looks fake.""Where's your birthday on here?" "Wow you're an organ donor." And all I really want to say back is "Check out just how fat I look! I look so bad right?!?!" And with that New York driver's license, I've been home six times since Christmas, six times since i freaked out Katie on our road trip to Kelly's wedding. Six times in three months means I should be getting better, right?
WRONG!
I suck. I suck! And I suck even worse when Mo and Lizzie the back seat driver are giving me conflicting directions to Georgetown from Mo's apartment on x95s and parkways and one way streets. So when we stopped and Mo suggested a Chinese Fire Drill, and I say, "YES! Thank god! I was thinking the same thing! I can't drive anymore! It's toooo scary!!!!"...and then the light turns green. So I yell at everyone to get back in and pull over ASAP. Lizzie says she'll drive and Mo says, "No way, you drive too fast so you can't drive Bridget's Dad's car." Lizzie concedes, but is already jumping in the front seat to give directions (it is a Chinese Fire Drill) and yells, "Grandma! YOU get in the back seat."
When I slam the door of the backseat, I'm overcome, overcome with relief. The back seat is where i belong.
And then I start getting worried that Mo is going to get in accident, because that's next on the bad things that could what happen chain of events. So we get to Georgetown safely, phew, and Mo "I love my Jack Russell Terrier Mini Cooper License Plate Holding Loser" rrison is parallel parking my dad's Mercury Sable and she love taps the royal blue car parked behind us, that's less a love tap and more of a hit I'd take on a guy that broke my heart kind of tap.
And when Morrison and Lizzie turn around my head's in my hands and I say, "I knew this was going to happen."
Granted I always overreact so it probably wasn't that bad and there was no damage done to either car.
Sadly, our noses did not make it through the night unscathed.
Creepy old dude whose 13 and 15 year-old kids are sitting at the bar is trying to make small talk (please notice how the words "hit on" were not used, I don't want to vomit)..."blah blah slur slur do you have kids?"... us: "No."...a good 5 minutes go by and someone lets one rip..."Having kids was the best thing I've ever done! slur slur as long as they're not little brats"....FART FART FART slur slur slur FART...Lizzie goes into hysterics....15 minutes later..."My kids think I'm the coolest slur"...more and more and more and MORE farting...Lizzie and the bartender discover that they have something in common, their favorite province of Canada is, in fact, Quebec.
And all this happened in one hour.
posted by flynn at 10:21 PM
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