September 13, 2010 § 1 Comment
Hey, guys, I won a race! Not just a race, my last race of the season, and one that had two of my kryptonites: heat and hills (sure, they were small hills, but still). I will write about that, and do something of a season wrap-up, but right now I want to tell you about my commute this morning.
I am a regular Casual Carpool rider. This has led to some really interesting commutes. I probably don’t write about them enough; did I ever tell you guys about Mr. Land-speed Record? At the time I was probably too traumatized, but I should have.
Anyway, this is how my morning started.
I’m the only person in line when a car pulls up. I go to climb into the back seat, but the doors are locked. The driver, a dapper older gentleman, unlocks the door for me, and as I climb in with my yoga mat he says “I hate you, you’re going to yoga (mumble mumble).”
Me: “Excuse me?”
Driver: “I hate you, you’re going to yoga (mumble mumble).”
Me (figuring that after confirming the part where he said he hated me I don’t really need to hear the rest of the sentence): “Well, I don’t go regularly, so I’m probably not as pretentious as the yoga-person reputation implies!”* Then I laughed. Loudly.
He laughed, too. Uncomfortably.**
As we sit in tense silence, a second woman approaches the car. She is also carrying a yoga mat. Before she opens the door, he mutters “I can’t believe it, I’ve never had a single yoga person in my car & today I have two!” She climbs in & he turns to her and says, wait for it:
“I hate you, you’re going to yoga and I can’t go today.”
Oh. I guess the mumbled part of that sentence was important. As we pull away from the curb, the two of them happily chatting away about the benefits of yoga, I glance around what turns out to be a brand new, top of the line BMW. In the seat next to me the driver has laid out his custom tailored houndstooth suit jacket, his wool fedora, and his fancy, monogrammed Italian leather briefcase. The whole picture seems kind of…pretentious, no?
*This is a technique known as foreshadowing.
** Really, serves him right for starting off with “I hate you,” even jokingly. I hadn’t had my coffee yet, how was I supposed to process sarcasm??