I knew the exact number of blocks from my five story walk-up to the office, but I never took the exact same path. If I managed to avoid the snooze button, I’d stop at whichever coffee shop’s sign caught my eye….I was impartial to puns, so it took me a while to cash in a loyalty stamp card.
But now, Trader Joe’s coffee grinds have become a reliable alternative to the $7 lattes I indulged in previously and the 45-minute drive from my new apartment to work is characterized by religiously listening to my “Pump Up” Spotify playlist. One morning, I miss my alarm, hurry out of the house caffeine-less, and hastily turn on the radio. At the first intersection, I notice a rusted New York license plate and decal reading “First the coffee then the things” on a silver Honda. I smirk as the driver’s hand dangles casually out the window, the wind rapidly striking his fingers, and for some reason, I want to feel that too. I roll down my window and hear Honda man’s stereo blasting his own “Pump up” playlist. Hmm Eminem? Intense for 7AM.
It feels like me and Honda man are in this drive together. I wonder where he works, why he left New York, does he notice me driving behind him? My monologue is abruptly interrupted by his blinker. Instinctively, I perk up in my seat wondering why he would take this exit? There’s not much down that road. I frown as he veers off. His changing lanes feels impulsive, like he doesn’t usually take that exit. Maybe he noticed me behind him? I shrug off the thoughts, roll up the windows, and soon pull into work.
6PM: With Spofity queued up, I am back on the Road, pondering which Blue Apron I’ll make. At the last intersection before my apartment, I find myself behind a silver Honda with a familiar rusted New York license. He drives down the road and into my apartment complex’s parking lot. Okay, this is weird, not sure if he’s creepy or I’m creepy.
I hold my breath waiting for the big reveal of THE Honda man. He steps out. I wave. He waves back, as if he knows me. He has youthful eyes, but an exhausted smile. I sheepishly approach him and blurt out, “this is strange but I think I drove behind you for a while this morning, and I don’t know why, but your car just made me miss New York, cause I only moved here a few months ago.” Tactful, I think.
He looks bemused, and softly explains “I’m actually just borrowing my buddy’s car while mine’s in the shop.” He turns and points, “we live up there with the ‘No Shirt, No Shoes, No Problem’ doormat.” I laugh. I can tell from his expression, he did not choose that mat.
“Yeah, okay, I’ll stop by some time.”