My 10 Minute Trip Home From Moe’s
I got in my car - seems mundane, right? Can I make a 10 minute trip home sound interesting? Probably not, but when one actually breaks down the “simplest” experience, the discovery of how much data actually gets processed is fascinating.
Consider that my trip home took place two hours ago. It began when I took ownership of my steak nachos and headed toward the door. I was $6.05 lighter and feeling a little guilty about buying dinner since I had plenty of food at home. I justified it in my mind by acknowledging the absense of someBODY, therefore needing someTHING to take her place. I proceeded over to the multiple flavors of salsa and hotsauce for my usual medium-temperature sauce. What??? It was almost empty. In fact, I got an extra bag of chips just because I had been looking forward to this hotsauce. I planned to get four little containers’ worth but only managed 3 1/2 before the bowl was completely empty.
Hm. I didn’t get to the door yet and I’ve exceeded my 100 words by roughly 70 words. It seems that each line in my editing window is approximately 20 words in length and I’m now on my tenth line (it was the ninth line at 170 words).
Anyway, I did leave after that. I got in my car, sat the bag of food in the passenger seat, put the key in the ignition, and before turning the ignition, I noticed that two of the hotsauce containers, although covered, were tipped on their side. We couldn’t have these tipped containers so I righted them up, and finally started my car. Or did I?
When I turned the ignition, I thought the car didn’t start. You know how you turn the key and hold it for a few seconds so the engine can start? Well, after those few seconds, I let off for half of another second but thought it didn’t start so I turned it again. CCCCCHHHHHHRRRRRGGHHHH!!! I guess it was started already. The pleasant odor of my newfound dinner must have overpowered my sense of automobilism.
You know what? We haven’t left the parking lot and already, I think I’ve written close to 350 words about my drive home. You know what else? I don’t feel like describing the rest of the trip, the feelings I had when the guy with the high-beams turned them to low - how different the two settings of lights were for some reason… I don’t need to write about whether 15mph is too slow for the road on which I live. I just don’t feel like it. I feel like writing about the automobile. See my next Essay on Nothing.