Story Time: I Don't Know How to Use My Horn

Story Time!

So I don't know how to use my horn. Here's what I mean: I grew up in a small town of 600 people with almost no cause to ever use my horn. Traffic for us was three cars leaving the grocery store in the evening. Scary stuff. That, and I'm just not the kind of person to immediately rail on my horn if someone cuts me off or does something I don't like. Basically, I don't have the muscle memory to use it.

That being said, there are some times when I need to use my horn, perhaps to alert someone to my presence before they accidentally hit me backing up or something. But not only do I lack the muscle memory but I've almost never used it, so I often forget it's even there.

So in situations like today, where I'm driving on the freeway and someone merges into the same lane and exact spot I'm occupying, rather than quickly sounding my horn to warn them, I just panic, say things out loud in my car ("Hey. "No." "Watch out."), and just helplessly watch things unfold.

There must be some part of my brain that realizes I need to be doing more, and maybe somewhere deep inside it knows it has to be something to do with my hands, but the horn-related thought pathways between my brain and my body are so dilapidated and decayed from years of vacancy that the final message comes out muddled and incoherent, so all I end up doing is giving them a rather nonspecific wave as they drive away, as if to suggest some queer camaraderie has come out of this confusing mess.

But tonight! Tonight I remembered! Granted, it was in my apartment parking lot and I had much more time to react, but I remembered nonetheless!

So I come home and this car is parked out in the lane, but directly in front of my spot. I drive up slowly behind him and notice a cigareTte in his outstretched arm; this guy's relaxed and probably doesn't even notice me. This is it! The perfect situation to finally put my horn skills to work! I push my palm into the center of my steering wheel but don't hear a sound. Oh great. I can't even do this correctly! I try again. Nothing.

Guess what I learned? My horn doesn't work.

Horrible Dialogue

   "You know what they say, 'An apple a day keeps the doctor away!'"
   "So they say. Not for me anyway.

   "Because I am a doctor."

Story Time: The Monkey That Guards My Car

Story Time!

So I have this stuffed monkey that sits on top of my dash and guards my car. He's positioned in just the right position where he can see everything that's going on. Right before I leave the car I'll say something like, "Monkey, guard my car," or often I'll just give him an acknowledging "Mon-keeey!"

I don't know where this idea of him guarding my car came from. He was originally a gift from my friend Jaye, and I know from the start I had intended for him to stay in my car. Perhaps it was just the most logical conclusion because of where I constantly had him positioned on the dash; his steady vigil testified to his guard-like prowess.

Despite telling him to guard my car every time I left it, this had always been more of a joke, nothing more--that is, until the day he proved me wrong.

One morning, back when I used to live in Pendleton, I was leaving for work and came out to my car to find my back window smashed open. Not only was this a frightening experience anyway, but I had never had anything like this happen to me before. I had to call into work to tell them I'd be late so I could deal with reporTing the incident while I tried to get everything cleaned up.

I combed my car to see if anything was missing, and to my relief it seemed they didn't take anything--though the damage was done. However, upon second glace I discovered something I failed to notice previously. My monkey, who always took his place perched atop my dash, was sitting in the back seat on the floor!

The one time my car had ever been broken into was the one time I forgot to have him guard my car!

So there you go. It's been proven. He's a tried and true, bona fide guard monkey.