Mad as hell and not going to take it anymore, Stephen King’s “Christine” Cecilia (my 1997 Toyota Tercel CE) pouted as I turned the key in the ignition.
OK, OK! So we had to be up painfully early, and we had had a couple of twelve and thirteen hour work days where she was stuck in a parking structure; but she’d spent the night at home under a lovely jacaranda tree, and we only had a few more lengthy days on our pilot which included a VIP slot on a Saturday wherein she could embrace her inner driving Diva and I could embrace my inner dorky desire to waltz through the Warner Bros. Main Gate ala Pee Wee Herman!
*Check Engine* Cecilia replied passive/aggressively with a bright orange icon.
Oh, FFS…
>>><<<
By all accounts – at least those extremely rare few conversations that I was privy to – the pilot was coming together quite beautifully: funny, well-written, clear and concise characters with well-defined relationships, and frankly (despite my perhaps somewhat unorthodox sense of humor) it just made me laugh!
And with an extended lunch hour as our cast took part in some interviews, I traipsed happily down the lot to see if my friend Ellie Mae (also working on a pilot) might be available for a lovely ladies lunch.
It was just one of those uncommon moments when my world made PERFECT sense and ANY future events of the day couldn’t POSSIBLY change my attitude!
Until…
I saw the four strangers huddled together only shortly before they saw me.
All the little hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up as my “fight or flight” instinct kicked in. But I couldn’t show any fear or emotion as I attempted to pass them, or I’d be a victim in a heartbeat.
“Stay cool, stay calm” I told myself, holding my breath and walking with a steady professional purpose so as not to catch an eye and require Security Guards to come to the rescue.
And rounding the corner of another stage safely, I exhaled deeply in relief from the personal unbridled savagery that might’ve potentially occurred…
Daubing my sweaty upper lip with a tissue, I couldn’t help but smile confidently at my brilliant self-preservation survival tactics:
I got to see the ridiculously handsome Actor Simon Baker up close and personal for the SECOND time in my life who just happened to be standing on the lot; AND I managed to restrain myself from Ethel-Mertzing him!!!
>>><<<
Having not shared the same happy heart-palpitating adrenaline of the day as I did, Cecilia obliging took me home; navigating herself once again under the jacaranda tree in an amiable way to allow us free access to leave regardless of our upstairs neighbors’ shared parking spot and any possible conflicting work hours.
“It’s supposed to rain for the next few days, so we should probably leave a little early” I pondered out loud.
*Check Engine* Cecilia’s dashboard icon replied petulantly.
And crabby as she seemed in the moment, I still protectively locked up her steering column with the bright red ancient apparatus known as “The Club”. (Hey, every Diva needs her bling!)
>>><<<
Whilst it was actually only a thirteen hour work day, I’d been up since 5:30am trying terribly hard not to look like a withering version of Madame Tussaud’s Wax Museum version of, well, ANYONE, so by the time I piled what was left of my weary carcass into the car around 9:45pm, my ass was dragging.
“Let’s go home, Cecilia” I sighed.
*Check Engine*
“Yes, yes, I’ll take you in for an oil change soon” I whined. “Can you please just get us home?” I begged, wheeling her around three loops to the bottom level of the structure, only to be met with a misting of light spittle from the incoming rain clouds.
Now, Los Angelenos are notorious for their inherent lack of ability to drive in any weather which does not live up to our usual standards of Paradise; and with even a hint of moisture in the air, cars start hydroplaning all over the freeways, mayhem ensues, and next thing you know the only breaking news in Hollywood has surprisingly nothing to do with Lindsay Lohan, and everything to do with STORM WATCH 2012!
But lucky for me (a native Hoosier), I’d spent my teenage years driving my white bitchin’ 1978 Camaro (“Bessie”) through rain, sleet, blinding snow (and even a telephone pole!) and yet somehow always managed to make it home safely.
So what harm could there be in a puny little mist?
In my ongoing eternal (albeit finite) quest to make sense of the world around me, I’m beginning to learn that as soon as I dismiss “something” as “nothing”, I’m inadvertently pressing some sort of wildly hilarious Cosmic Joke Button…
With the green light go ahead, I made a left onto the street as whispers of precipitation gently kissed Cecilia’s windshield.
But it wasn’t until we had barreled down Forest Lawn at a whopping 45 mph to the red light at Barham however, that I felt the need to hit the relatively unused and somewhat torn apart rubber windshield wipers.
Hunh.
Now, for those of you who have never parked your car under a jacaranda tree, please note that whilst in bloom, you’re generally looking at a visually pleasing purple dazzling creation of Mother Nature that will adorn your automobile like a float at a West Hollywood Parade; but when not in bloom, the damn thing becomes an evil demonic seeping mass of miniscule leaflets and invisible syrupy-like ooze.
“No worries!” I explained to Cecilia as I attempted to peer through the goopy mess of tree sap and smoggy sprinkle. “That’s what wiper fluid is for!” I beamed, squirting a dry well of absolutely nothing.
Oh FFS…
>>><<<
Suffice it to say, I have now been labeled as a certifiably crappy OFFICIAL Los Angeleno driver.
And at the almighty speed of approximately 5 mph in a drizzle, whipping my arm out of the window with a paper towel to clear a pocket of vision at every red light, I got honked at, flipped off, and verbally assaulted by every other driver who had the great misfortune of winding up behind me in my painfully slow yet safe path to home.
*Check Engine*
“Yeah, yeah, yeah…” I sighed again, as Cecilia and I gave our own metaphorical middle fingers to the jacaranda and sidled up behind my neighbor’s car; blocking them in, but knowing full-well that we would once again be leaving early for our final Saturday shoot in front of a live audience.
>>><<<
For decades now, my parents and I have ended our long-distance conversations with the same words – “I Love You!”
“And be careful!” they always tell me; (my personal verbal amulet of protection!)
>>><<<
So to my Mom and Dad – my utmost gratitude. May you continue to bless me with gentle cautions to always keep me out of harm’s way!
To my fellow L.A. drivers that night – my apologies that you felt the need to be complete jackasses if I unintentionally hindered your path.
And to Cecilia – Seriously??? You turned off the “check engine” light exactly FIVE minutes before I wheeled your chassis into Jiffy Lube???
Hunh.
Well played!
>>><<<
Back to embracing my “regular” show, and wishing you all a smooth ride this week,
~Low Rider P
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