Smooth Move

Be yourself. If you're a painter, then be a painter. If you're a fire fighter, be a fighter of fire. Even if you're an actor, be yourself while you're pretending to be other people, I guess. Hopefully you're not a drug dealer, though. Or a murderer. Do you best not to be a murderer, if that's what's actually going on in your head.

But for most people, be yourself.

As in be true to yourself. Be comfortable in your own skin. It's probably the only skin you're going to feel comfortable in. I mean, there's a whole host of things going on if you feel more comfortable in any other pair of skin than your own. But skin aside, being comfortable with what you are doing and not doing is a good lesson to learn. I feel like I've touched on this concept before, of doing you, not trying to do something just because somebody else is doing it.

Because that's the part that has occurred to me more lately. Not trying to emulate something just because others have it going. Staying within what you got at the moment, which by the way is very different than just accepting being a loser. At no point am I saying that you shouldn't work hard for what you want and aspire and dream. But dreaming does not mean hallucinating. Understand the hand you've been dealt before you try to play the hand. How you project yourself and act in general, be it long term or short term, should not seem forced. It should always feel natural, like you're not trying too hard. And I know that I have had many a time that I've tried too hard. In fact, there are times that I know I should not have tried, and did.

In college once, I borrowed my roommate's car to go to the store. Should have been straight forward, get some groceries, come back. Nice and easy. Nothing embarrassing gonna happen today.

And the world said under its breath: We'll see.

I looked forward to joyriding in his car in those days. It was sophomore year, which had been kind of rough for me up to this point. I had to work while going to school and running track, and was taking a larger class load than before, and was discovering how much it costs to take on all of my expenses at once, and was just stressed the hell out all of the time. One of the few reprieves I had was any time that the house was empty or I had a moment of silence somewhere that I could think out loud. Usually, this occurred while singing along to something at the top of my lungs.

I discovered the summer before my sophomore year that I really liked rock music. So every chance that I got, I would download some new rock music recommended by classmates and learn the song to where I could yell the lyrics and not be judged. Which wasn't even a big deal to get caught doing it, but I still preferred to be alone if I was going to blast my jams. So that's what I was doing in the car as I pulled out of the parking lot behind our house. Things are good.

I won't sit here and say that I remember everything about the drive, but I do remember that it was sometime with snow on the ground. I know it was noticeably cold and that I had trouble seeing early on. I stopped at a stoplight and had to wipe the windows of the car, because I had apparently forgotten how defrost worked. Things are less good.

I notice the car next to me has one of the windows cracked with smoke coming out. The guy in the driver seat has the gangsta lean going on, with a joint in his mouth. No bullshit, he is just smoking weed, driving down the street with the window down. It must have been just that cold, that if cops saw him, that who even cares? He looks over at me and gives me the nod, and then takes his joint of of his mouth, as his spits onto the ground just before pulling off. Things are different.

After a few minutes more of driving, I park, hop out of the car and go inside the grocery store. I have just gotten paid and can afford to get a large amount of food. Food that both tastes good and holds any kind of nutritional value. And when you're broke but get to fill up the gas tank or the shopping cart or  your stomach or something that was empty, it's a good feeling. I feel like I was dancing in the aisles as I picked the groceries that were coming home with me. Beans and Franks, spaghetti, chicken strips, chips and dip, you know, stuff that athletes should be eating. But I was so stoked to get to fill up my part of the pantry. Things are good again.

I pile all of my food into the car and take off, feeling awesome about getting to ride back and jam some more. I couldn't use the trunk because it was full of something that I couldn't move, so my groceries are in the back seat and one bag is next to me, on the passenger seat. I decide to take a different way back, onto one of the main streets in campus, which will take a little longer but will still get me back before too long. Things are going great.

I pull up to a stoplight on Regent street, near Park street, which is down the street from our house and is very busy at the time. There is a lot of people on the street and a car with three very attractive girls that pull up next to the car I'm in, with a few blocks back to the house. And I just so happened to have to spit, but I was also smiling at the girl in the passenger seat, and trying to be smooth, for whatever reason, I try to imitate the dude smoking the blunt earlier. Not even that I wanted to be some dude with the balls to smoke weed on the street in front of people. The nod and then the spitting thing, for whatever reason, made some sort of impact. So I go for it. Things are going smooth.

I give her the same smooth guy nod, and then I let my spit fly. I did not roll the window down very far, because of how cold it was, and I just wanted to get it back up as soon as possible. Sadly, the window did not go down far enough for my spit wad to leave the car safely. Half of my spit catches the side of the window and hangs onto the outside of the window and the inside at the same time. The girl I was smiling back at, rightfully so, starts laughing and pointing. Things are going un-smooth.

In my panic, I reach for napkins or something that can help clean this off of the window as quick as possible. Nothing seems to be a good choice, or really even a viable choice. I hear honks behind me and realize that the light is now green and I need to drive again. I start moving cautiously down the street while still fumbling for some kind of paper that can help remove the saliva on the window beside my face. I very much could have just stopped the car and parked before dealing with this. I did not. The only thing I find that I think could help the situation is the receipt from my groceries, which I find in the bag that's in the front seat. While glancing to the street ahead, I wipe the receipt onto the outside of the cars windshield as quickly as possible but without looking, it feels rough, and I quickly realize that the saliva has already frozen on the outside of the car window. Things are even less smooth than before.

Looking away from the road, briefly, I now also realize that the receipt is partially stuck to the window. I now struggle to remove the receipt instead of worrying about the spit, only to remember that I was driving and that I should check and make sure that I don't have to stop again. Which I did. I avoided crashing into the car in front of me. Of course, I accomplished this by skidding to a helpless stop and drifting part of the way into the next lane, which had the same car full of attractive girls. I am essentially blocking their path and the crosswalk at the same time, and look like a complete jackass that almost rammed into oncoming traffic. Things have never been this far from smooth. Things are jagged. Yes, I said jagged.

As I sat there, at another red light, diagnolly pointing into their lane, I could see that their entire car was now laughing and, I thought at the time, videotaping me on their camera phones, which was not as big a thing at this time as now. I also realized at this time that the bag of groceries in the front seat was completely spilled across the floor, mostly eggs and bananas and bread. I shrug, wave to the girls, and pull off as best I can when the green light comes. Ignoring the receipt, I just roll the window up and resolve to get home before doing anything else. Things are... Well, things are pretty normal for me.

I pull into the lot behind our house. I bring everything in from the back seat and go back to figure out the stuff that spilled. It turns out I only lost a few eggs, as the bananas and bread are fine. I pick up the eggs, and use a rag from the kitchen to wipe up the spilled yolk, which really wasn't even spilled that much into the car itself. Then I come back and use an ice scraper to remove the spit and attached receipt from the driver side window. I go inside and make a sandwich and get a mound of potato salad to go with it. And things are good again.

Now, big deal in general, right? I took a pseudo joy ride and almost wrecked my roommates car while looking like I had maybe never driven a car before, but it all worked out, right? Well, yeah. But I'm just saying, this could have been just about me enjoying singing in the car, and that would have been something goofy that everyone could relate to. And I'd have been fine with that. Instead, we took it to trying to be smooth for basically no reason and having it definitely not work. If I learned anything that night, it was a reaffirmation that I am not smooth. Or at least not that kind of smooth. You can be cool in different ways at a lot of different times. Riding in the snow, not my moment.

So yeah, stay you, stay cool in your own way, and stay alert when it's snowing. Buckle up out there. And in case you had not been told, receipts are not good napkins.

Not sure why I needed to reiterate that. Bye now.