Dashbodorant

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"


This is really an odd question to be so common. Whenever someone asks you what you are doing, and yells it in doing so, chances are, they already know what you're doing. For example:


Situation A: Question is spoken.


"What are you doing?"


"I'm eating spaghetti."


"Oh, I did not know that."


Situation B: Question is shouted.


"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"


"I'm eating spaghetti."


"I KNOW! THAT'S MY SPAGHETTI! GET YOUR DAMN HANDS OFF MY FLEXIBLE NOODLES!"


In this particular situation, I was in Scenario B. I asked what someone was doing, when I knew very well what it was they were doing. Nonetheless, I proceeded to inquire.


"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"


"I'm looking in your car."


"I KNOW! DON'T!"


"Don't look in your car?"


"NO!"


"Why? Why can't I look in your car?"


"JUST DON'T LOOK IN IT, OKAY?"


"Can I look at it?"


"NO!"


"I can't look at your car."


"NO!"


"Well, Natasha, it's a little difficult for me to avoid glancing at the 3,126 - pound object that is sitting outside my house, in my driveway, sitting directly in the path I take to get to my own vehicle."


Now, I'm sure my emotional response to someone glancing in my car window was a little suspicious. You may be thinking, "Who cares? Someone looked in your car window." UH YEAH. How would you feel if you looked outside your bedroom window, and there was someone's face, looking in at you? Rubbing themselves? You may be thinking, "A bedroom window is completely different from a car window." You may be thinking, "If someone looks in your car, they're peering at leather seats. If someone looks in your house, they're peering at you. It's completely different." You may be thinking, "Hold on a second, rubbing themselves? That's completely irrelevant. No one was standing outside of your car rubbing themselves." You may be thinking, "How does Natasha know what I'm thinking?" You may be thinking, "When is she going to stop guessing what I'm thinking?" Unfortunately, I only have a response for two of your thoughts : right now, and no, no one was rubbing themselves - I don't know what made me say that.


EITHER WAY - I've been conditioned to freak out whenever someone approaches my car due to many different past experiences. 


Experience One


KA-POW!


"Please don't kick my car. Leave him out of this, and step away from the vehicle."


Experience Two


"Who's driving?"


"I'll drive!"


"Okay!"
(Door is opened.)


"Uhhh...what'sss....that...smell...."


"You know what, you can drive actually."


Experience Three


"Is that a piece of moldy pizza in your glove compartment?"


Experience Four


"Is that a piece of moldy pizza in your center console?"


Experience Five


"Is that a piece of moldy pizza squished to your steering wheel?"


These are just a few experiences. There are two specific things, however, that constantly get brought up whenever someone sits in my car.


The Mess


"Do you live in your car?"


"What? No."


"But you have pillows in the backseat..."


"Well ---"


"And a blanket..."


"That's for ---"


"And a toothbrush under your seat..."


"I don't use ---"


"And deodorant on your dashboard..."


"It's DashBOdorant, that's what you're supposed to do with it."


"Okay, well what about all the clothes..."


"In case I need to layer."


"And the underwear..."


"In case...I need...to layer...my underwear..."


"You layer your ---"


"CROTCHES GET CHILLY TOO, YA KNOW."


The Smell


"You car reeks!"


"You have no right to say that."


"Yes I do, I have to sit in it!"


"That's funny, because I remember once when a RAT DIED in your car and you couldn't FIND THE BODY and we had to endure the ROTTING STENCH until it decided to go away."


"You car smells even worse. Like ten rats. Dead."


"Ten? More like three. And not rats, mice."


"Three mice?"


"Blind."


"Your car smells like three blind mice?"


"Yep. In a bubble bath."


"That's Rub-A-Dub-Dub, Three Men in a Tub."


"No, my car does not smell like three men in a tub."


"What do three men in a tub even smell like?"


"Sweet Pea..."


"The fragranc---"


"Nis."


Returning to my Scenario, Situation B, I was in no mood to deal with anyone commenting on my car.


"Is that a giant pile of ash below your radio?"


Like that. I was not in the mood to hear that. So I, yet again, tell this person to not look in my car.


"Dad, please don't look in my car."


Yes, I was talking to my dad. WHICH IS WHERE THE ROOT OF THIS ALL STARTED.


It was 2008. Springtime. I had not even turned 18 years old yet. I walk outside my front door, only to run into my father walking toward me from where?


From my car.


"Natasha, I need to talk to you."


"About what?"


"About THIS."


"What...is...."


"A CONDOM, NATASHA."


"Why do you need to talk to me about a condom...?"


"A CONDOM I FOUND IN YOUR CAR."


"Well, it's not mine!"


"WHY DO YOU HAVE A CONDOM IN YOUR CAR."


"I don't know how it got there! Even if it was mine, it's not like it was used. It's still in the package!"


"WHY DO YOU HAVE A CONDOM IN YOUR CAR."


"I'm sure---"


"WHY DO YOU HAVE A CONDOM IN YOUR CAR."


"Dad---"


"WHY DO YOU HAVE A CONDOM IN YOUR CAR."


"I've never even had sex! I'm sure someone was in my car and just dropped it!"


"WHO WOULD HAVE A CONDOM WITH THEM."


"Any teenage boy..."


"I just hope you are not having sex."


"Dad, I'm not."


"I'm just looking out for you."


"I know, Dad. But please don't search through my car."


After The Rubber Run-In came The Marlboro-Misunderstanding.


It was 2008. Again, springtime, shortly after the condom incident.


"WHAT IS THIS NATASHA."


My dad had come into my bedroom, full-handed. When I had heard "this," I was expecting precisely that - a "this." As in something singular. As in one thing. What he should have said was, "What are these."


There he stood, in my room, holding not one, not two, not three or four, but five packs of cigarettes. Plus two lighters.


"I FOUND THIS IN YOUR CAR."


"Dad, I told you not to go in my car!"


"ARE YOU SMOKING."


"Why did you go in ---"


"ARE YOU SMOKING."


"Dad, you ---"


"ARE YOU SMOKING."


"No! Well, sometimes. But those aren't mine! I smoke a cigarette every once in awhile, but I don't have FIVE packs of cigarettes just to give me options! I don't even buy them; I just bum from other people! Let me see those."


He holds them up even higher than they had already been positioned in the air. Three packs in one hand, and two in the other - along with the two lighters.


"Uhhh..."


"NATASHA."


"The Reds are Jimmy's, the Smooths are Chris's, the Lights are James's. The Turkish Royals are Caroline's and that pack of cloves? I have NO idea whose those are."


"I don't want you smoking."


"I know."


"I'm just looking out for you."


"I know, Dad. But please don't search through my car."


"Alright."


Then he places all 5 packs on my dresser, plus the two lighters, and leaves my room.


And this is exactly why I become paranoid whenever someone looks in my car. A lot of the time, I don't even have anything in there that would upset anyone. But sometimes, just sometimes, you might just find a moldy piece of pizza.

Speed Bumps On Yo Head

Traffic School: Take Three.

Yes, take three. That is neither an understatement nor a fabrication. I read somewhere that "three" is The Liar's Number (as in, "that happened just THREE days ago!" - when really it was 6), and ever since then, I've been unintentionally hearing the number 3 louder than any other word when someone is speaking to me. Example? Just for you, pumpkin.

"I ran into Joe the other day ---"

"What a weird coincidence! I saw Joe just THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE days ago!"

"No you didn't."

"What? Yes I did."

"Three?"

"Yes, three."

"Fuck off, liar."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me bitch. You know you saw him FOUR days ago and don't you fuckin' tell me no different, kaka-sucka."

"Kaka? What?"

"Where were you on March 12th at approximately 5:59pm? Huh? Huh?!"

"Are you out of your mi---"

"YOU GUILTY SON OF A BITCH."

Anywho, (hate that, don't ya? any "who" instead of "way?" me too. let's try something different).

Anywhen, after getting pulled over for going 79 in a 55 (THAT'S RIGHT I'M A BADASS MOTHER FUCKER), I received a ticket. Being the responsible ah-dult that I am at times, I enrolled in traffic school - this being the last time I can do that for the next 3 years, since I've already been twice.

Saturday, 7:00am: I wake up.

FUCKKKKKKK THISSSSS.

8:00am: I arrive at traffic school.

"So you're here for the DUI class?"

"What! No! I just got a speeding ticket..."

"Oh, well you didn't have to be here till 9."

FUCKKKK THISSSSSS.

I return at 9, and my class awaits me: 14 of us to be exact, plus our teacher. The first thing we discuss is our #1 pet peeve about driving.

"People who don't use their turn signal."

"People who don't let you in."

"And you, Miss Ferrier?"

"Honking."

"Honking....I've never heard that one before."

"Well, I never honk. Ever. I find it barbaric. But the ONE TIME I did honk, I got pulled over."

"You got pulled over?"

"Yes...well, I kind of was honking for a long period of time...and not "honk honk honk" but more of a "hooooooooonnnnnnnnnnk." I just kinda laid down on my horn and didn't let off of it for a good....few....blocks...."

"Ah yes, you can get pulled over for "improper use of the horn." "

"Seriously?"

"Yes."

"There's actually a name for it?"

"Yes."

"But I never honk my horn. Don't all those times I could have honked it and decided not to carry over somehow? Can I save honks? Like vacation days? Or how about rollover minutes? Can I get rollover honks?"

Teacher merely shakes his head and smiles. I take that as a "no" and I shut my mouth.

"And you, sir? What is your number one pet peeve about driving?"

Old man in a Hawaiian shirt mumbles something that he probably couldn't even interpret.

"I'm sorry, what'd you say?"

"I serd purdy womern."

"Pretty women?"

"Yerp."

Next comes distractions. Our #1 distraction on the road. And yet again, it's my turn.

"My radio. Until it got punched and it broke."

"It got punched?"

Sometimes I don't realize how odd I sound until someone repeats what I've said.

"Errr yep okay, next guy's turn!"

"My phone."

"My kids."

"Purdy womern."

This is when my teacher chimes in.

"Pretty women? Again?"

"Heh heh heh yep, dem purdy womern on da side of da street wavin' achya! After clubbin,' I goes tuh pick em up."

"Oh, so you're distracted by pretty women on the side of the street."

Uhhhh...are we talking about prostitutes?

"Yerp, I be goin' to da bar and I be clubbin' all night and den pickin' up dem purdy womern on da side of da street and be givin' em all my money."

Yes. Yes we are talking about prostitutes.

Then comes speeding: the reason all 14 of us were there.

"Speeding does not save you that much time blah blah blee blah bloo blah blah ---"

Says my teacher.

"People were driving REALLY slow last night!"

Says random boy.

"Yes, they indeed were."

Says my teacher.

"Wait, why?"

Says old woman.

"It was 4/20."

Says my teacher.

"YEAHHHHHH-YUUUHHHHHHH!"

Says man sitting in the back wearing a medallion the size of my fist hanging on a gold chain.

"FOUR TWENTYYYY I'M WAITING TO GIT OUTTA DIS CLASS AND GIT BACK TO DAT YEAHHHHH-YUHHHHHHH!"

Says the same medallion-man.

I'm sitting there, and I'm actually not thinking about how unnecessary it was for this medallion man to let us all know he enjoys marijuana, though I'm sure we were all very happy to discover he has a hobby besides buying enlarged jewelry.

Instead, I'm sitting there thinking: why the "yuhhhhh?" When did this become invented? Can things "become" invented or are they just "invented?" Who created this "yeah yuh" phrase? Is "yeahhhhh" not enough? Were people really getting THAT confused by the meaning of "yeahhhh" that an entire other word had to be added to it in order to clarify its meaning? Were people hearing "yeahhhhh" and thinking, "Wait, is that a yes? Or is that a no?" Does "yuhhhhhh" attached to the end of "yeahhhh" really make its purpose more obvious?

"Yeahhhhhhhh!"

"Wait, so...is that...a maybe....?"

"Yeahhh-YUHHHHHH!"

"Oh! Yeah-YUH! Why didn't YUH just say so? Now I KNOW you mean yes!"

"Yeahhhhh-yuhhhhhh!"

I guess this works for some people. Personally, if I hear "yeahhhhh," I'm going to take a wild guess and say it's a "yes." But maybe some of us need that extra "yuh" to feel certain.

Anywhat, my teacher then decides we should all then blindly judge each other.

"We're going to go around the room, and guess what kind of car everyone drives."

I'm the first to go. This is what I get for taking the seat closest to the teacher. (Reason behind this being: after being in traffic school two times before, I have found that the weirdest ones always sit in the back. This proved true the third time, as well. The back row included Medallion Man, Mumbler Man, and Mispronouncing Man, a man who pronounced "Charlotte Pike" as "Shurer Pee.")

"Alright, everyone! Let's try and guess what this little lady drives!"

"TOYOTA!"

"A LITTLE CAR!"

"SOMETHING CHEAP!"


"SOMETHING DIRTY!"

I'm starting to really dislike this game.

My teacher then interrupts to give his own input:

"I'm thinking something practical. Nothing fancy, nothing expensive, just something to get you from here to there."

I nod my head. I've never been called "practical" before, so I take it as a compliment. Practical Magic, anyone? Sandra Bullock and Nicole Kidman? No?

"VOLVO!"

Then someone guesses it. And after that, we play yet another game: guess what "kind of driver" everyone is. Alright, since you did not get caught speeding those multiple times that you and I both know you were, I'm going to force you to endure traffic school along with me.

The 5 Types of Drivers

1. Love & Belonging Drivers

2. Freedom Drivers

3. Fun Drivers

4. Power-Assertive Drivers

5. Power-Controlling Drivers

Alright, the upcoming summary of these types are not from the textbook. They are in the words of yours truly.

1. Love & Belonging Drivers - the drivers who don't give anyone the finger (I'm talking about the anger act here, not the sexual act)

2. Freedom Drivers - the drivers who get drunk and say, "Let's go on a DRIVE!"

3. Fun Drivers - the drivers who have decorated their cars to match their panties and drive around singing over the music - ruining the song completely

4. Power-Assertive Drivers: the drivers who say, "Fuck you, I'm in a car, and I'm cool. When I'm not seated in a moving object, I'm not that cool. But when I'm pointing one set of my toes and have my hands on a hollowed-out circle, I'm one bad mother fucker."

5. Power-Controlling Drivers: the drivers who hit people and then laugh

Medallion-Man was quick to claim that he was a "Love & Belonging" Driver. Many people objected to this statement.

"I thought you would be fun!"

"Yeah, or freedom!"

Medallion-Man tries to defend himself:

"I mean, doo, I'm all about love, I jus' don' yield tuh peoples. If they ain't got no license plate on they back or some speed bumps on they head, I ain't stoppin!"

"Allllright, I hope you do not truly mean that. As drivers, we should always yield to pedestrians."

"But we get points on our record fo' speedin,' right? What is it, 2 points on da license fo' speedin'? So if I be drivin' in a school zone, and I hit a kid, what is dat? Like 4 points? Fo' points fo' hittin' a kid?"

"No. There is no existence of a point system for killing children."

"Wait doo, so you mean, ten points? Twelve? Firteen?"


"No. If you hit a child because they do not have speed bumps on their heads, you are going to jail."


"Mayne shit."


"And you, Miss Ferrier, let's guess what kind of driver you are. I'm going to go ahead and say Love & Belonging."


I'm rethinking this baggy brown sweater I threw on this morning. 


"NAH MAN!"


Medallion Man has more to yell.


"She a WRITUH! She a WRITUH, mayne! You know what DAT means. It means she be out there, not givin' a shit, hittin' people left and RIGHT, mayne! That's what dem writers do; they don't give a shit!"


That. Makes. No. Sense.


Eight hours later, and I'm leaving traffic school. What did I learn, you may ask? Well, I learned that it's alright to hit anyone who was not born with lumps of cement on their foreheads. I learned that there is no such thing as "rollover honks," that you CAN get a ticket for making loud noise with a loud noise-maker that was installed in your car JUST SO YOU CAN'T USE IT, and I learned that some men can get away with wearing Hawaiian shirts - as long as there are still prostitutes in the world. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go drive my cheap, dirty, little Toyota now. Yeah-YUH.