Thursday, October 2, 2008

Last Friday, when the rain pattered down on stubbornly dry gas stations, the line between schadenfreude–perhaps the only German word I’ve retained–and justice blurred as a Hummer H2 sat dead but 30 feet from the pumps, nudged against the curb, its owner tipping a red can into the beast to revive it. The spectacle was the highlight of my lunch hour. That’s a terrible thing to say, I know, but I’m no saint, and my irrational distaste for the H2 has never waned. It’s a piece of automotive excess that moves at the speed of gauche. A tackyon, for you physicists out there. I’ll be here all night.

The temperature, humidity, and atmospheric pressure are all in accordance this weekend for a trip downtown. It’s been a long time coming, and the monorail sure isn’t getting any newer. It just feels like I need to get out there and give it another chance, you know? This will be the third ever weekend trek to the city. The previous two trips were met with a ghost town of a panorama, but I’ve been told this was my fault for rolling down the streets at 10 AM on a Saturday morning.

Afternoon it is, then. The tendency for me is to envision an experience before it even happens, which I imagine can be detrimental. The moment I decided to go, I could feel the breeze, hear the sidewalk connect with my shoe bottoms, and exhale that satisfied post-trip sigh. And then the spread immediately came to mind: best-case, a return trip. Worst-case, someone in the parking garage would figure out my gas cap doesn’t lock and siphon the tank. Closest station would be the Texaco, where I’d grab a plastic container and fuel.

You see where this is going. I want a clean slate this weekend. No preconceptions. No prior judgments. Make sure the jury’s still out. No verdict until after. But even as I write this, I realize the gavel may have already gone crack.