All week I’ve been driving kilometers per hour. Some button-pushing child maniac switched it and I only notice it when I’m speeding along on the freeway and can’t take a moment to scour the dashboard for the button, one of those buttons I can never remember between scourings.
I first noticed it had been switched about five days ago. Amy and I were zipping off to a rare movie. As usual, we had left too late and were destined to sit in the front row or, tragically, apart. I was just getting on the freeway, rolling along in the slow lane behind another car, when I suddenly noticed I was going 90. Holy crap! How could this be 90?! We were all going 90. And faster too. That guy must be doing 100!
At first I blamed it on Trump. Stress. The new apocalypse. I thought, this is what we do now, drive around at 90 just to end up in the front or row or tragically apart. Eventually my brain caught up, cleared its throat, and said, “Those are kilometers, Nimrod.” (Why Nimrod? Isn’t it supposed to be Dimwit or Nincompoop?)
Since that glorious moment, there have been several times this week that I’ve found myself back in the car, zipping along, and suddenly I’m going 80, 90, and I think, need to find that dang button. But then I arrive (as I just did, moments ago, at my office here on campus), and the thought vanishes. It’s not unlike the missing soap problem in the shower. When I’m in the shower and discover the missing soap, I’m not going to get out, sopping wet, and rifle through the baskets and shelves to find a bar of soap. When I’m out of the shower, I forget. This goes back to ancient times: when it’s not raining, the roof is as good as any other.
I have to say there’s a certain badassness to driving around at kilometers per hour. Going 70 through a school zone? Love it. Out of the way you little bastards! On the freeway hitting 100? What the F&%$ do I care? I’m the fastest slow car in the slow lane you ever saw. Don’t make me go 105, Motherf$#%$#!
There’s also a certain escapism to it, disappearing down global backroads. Hey, I’m not American! I’m doing kilometers here! I play football, you know, with my feet! I speak multiple languages! I live in a small house and I’m fine with that! Fill her up, lads!
Wait, why did that last tank of gas cost so much?