First thing Thursday morning I had to account for someone else's fuck up. Some freshman--and I use that word the way Rush uses liberal--backed into me in a parking lot on Sunday. I had pulled out wide to turn into a spot but had come to a stop behind his car when I realized the space was, like all parking at UT, not for students. Something flickered in my peripheral vision, and I turned my head in time to helplessly witness his big, red hunk of plastic crunch, unabated by brakes, into my driver's-side doors. "Holy shit!" I yelled. Then I sat there for a while, staring out my window at the paint smeared like blood across my virginal golden coupe. In the end, the kid was all worked up and tried to blame me for pulling in right behind him and coming to a stop when he was already backing out. Or, as he told his mom on the phone: "Some guy fuckin' ran into me." Right, with my door.
Anyways, Thursday bright and early I drove to a body shop on south Lamar to get an estimate. While the efficient estimator examined my doors, I sipped freshly roasted horrible coffee and squinted in the washed out glare of sunshine on concrete. At least they also gave me a doughnut to mitigate my disdain for being up this early and not getting paid for it. Fifteen minutes later the damage had been tallied: one thousand, two hundred and seventy-three dollars. Holy shit. Makes missing three hours of work seem like a rather light punch in the pocketbook. As I left, I felt a little bad, knowing that I'd probably wasted this company's time. We had a guy in San Antonio who'd certainly do it much cheaper, which meant we stood to make some cash on this deal. Insurance fraud is funny like that.
I couldn't make the left turn out of the parking lot onto northbound Lamar, so I took a right and hooked off at the first light. Except there was nowhere for me to turn around. I ended up on this narrow, windy road that led me into an old neighborhood. I turned back in the direction of Lamar at one stop sign, and drove by small houses I could tell had been there for a while because they all had different architecture. Lots of trees and native-looking vegetation decorated the unpretensious yards, the whole scene nicely lit up by a slanting midmorning sun. It was the kind of place I'd like to live someday. I rolled down my window.
Finally the neighborhood dropped away and I came up to what I thought was Lamar. Instead I found myself on Barton Springs, way, way east of where I thought I was. I drove past Vinny's and Sandy's, thinking of good salads and good shakes, respectively. Barton Springs turned into Congress and I crossed the river driving right at the Capitol Building. I pulled up at a light next to the Raddisson Hotel, where Kanchan and I stood forty feet from Bush as he accepted the Republican nomination four years ago. The events from that night blipped pleasantly through my head, and I marvelled at how wrong, for better or worse, we'd all been about Bush back then. Near the capitol there were all kinds of homeless and downtrodden people milling around, waiting for buses, and I felt the urge to take one of the open meters just because parking is so rare at night, when I'm usually in the area. I thought of the last time I was there, with Reid and Louis, looking for a sports bar that no longer existed. Winding my way back toward campus, I passed the bank Christa had me take her to several times, and the reel of memories spun faster. Now on Lavaca, I drove by more places that reminded me of the last four years: Texas Chili Parlor (ah, the XXX enchiladas), Sholtz's Beer Garden (where Meanest Capacity played once), and the Scottish Rite Theatre (where Megan took me to see Robert Hass read his poetry before I knew how much I loved it). Every memory jostled loose more related memories, until I felt all the stories extending and connecting into one another like the streets that interesected the one I drove on. Or maybe the Flaming Lips, still in my CD player, said it better:
"Driving home the sky accelerates
The clouds all form in geometric shapes
And it goes fast
Think of the past
And, suddenly, everything has changed"
Anyways, Thursday bright and early I drove to a body shop on south Lamar to get an estimate. While the efficient estimator examined my doors, I sipped freshly roasted horrible coffee and squinted in the washed out glare of sunshine on concrete. At least they also gave me a doughnut to mitigate my disdain for being up this early and not getting paid for it. Fifteen minutes later the damage had been tallied: one thousand, two hundred and seventy-three dollars. Holy shit. Makes missing three hours of work seem like a rather light punch in the pocketbook. As I left, I felt a little bad, knowing that I'd probably wasted this company's time. We had a guy in San Antonio who'd certainly do it much cheaper, which meant we stood to make some cash on this deal. Insurance fraud is funny like that.
I couldn't make the left turn out of the parking lot onto northbound Lamar, so I took a right and hooked off at the first light. Except there was nowhere for me to turn around. I ended up on this narrow, windy road that led me into an old neighborhood. I turned back in the direction of Lamar at one stop sign, and drove by small houses I could tell had been there for a while because they all had different architecture. Lots of trees and native-looking vegetation decorated the unpretensious yards, the whole scene nicely lit up by a slanting midmorning sun. It was the kind of place I'd like to live someday. I rolled down my window.
Finally the neighborhood dropped away and I came up to what I thought was Lamar. Instead I found myself on Barton Springs, way, way east of where I thought I was. I drove past Vinny's and Sandy's, thinking of good salads and good shakes, respectively. Barton Springs turned into Congress and I crossed the river driving right at the Capitol Building. I pulled up at a light next to the Raddisson Hotel, where Kanchan and I stood forty feet from Bush as he accepted the Republican nomination four years ago. The events from that night blipped pleasantly through my head, and I marvelled at how wrong, for better or worse, we'd all been about Bush back then. Near the capitol there were all kinds of homeless and downtrodden people milling around, waiting for buses, and I felt the urge to take one of the open meters just because parking is so rare at night, when I'm usually in the area. I thought of the last time I was there, with Reid and Louis, looking for a sports bar that no longer existed. Winding my way back toward campus, I passed the bank Christa had me take her to several times, and the reel of memories spun faster. Now on Lavaca, I drove by more places that reminded me of the last four years: Texas Chili Parlor (ah, the XXX enchiladas), Sholtz's Beer Garden (where Meanest Capacity played once), and the Scottish Rite Theatre (where Megan took me to see Robert Hass read his poetry before I knew how much I loved it). Every memory jostled loose more related memories, until I felt all the stories extending and connecting into one another like the streets that interesected the one I drove on. Or maybe the Flaming Lips, still in my CD player, said it better:
"Driving home the sky accelerates
The clouds all form in geometric shapes
And it goes fast
Think of the past
And, suddenly, everything has changed"
posted by Matt at 1:53 AM
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