Its 5:30 p.m.! It’s 5:30 p.m. on a Friday night! It’s 5:30 p.m. on a Friday night and I am sitting in bumper to bumper traffic; annoyed, hungry, and crossing my fingers that no one is having a crisis because all I want to do is grab a cocktail and watch my DVR. The car in front takes off late causing me to miss the light and fury sets in. I respond like any overworked, underpaid citizen of the world: curse, scream, and lay my hands in my head. I press my head on the driver’s window to physically display my disdain for this traffic, this wack ass job, and my plastic window covered car that shakes when the AC turns on. I am hoping for sympathy; camaraderie; hell a head nod from a fellow gridlock companion but I am shocked.
There she is dancing her ass off to a song that I wish I knew the lyrics to. She is happy, she is carefree, she clearly must be an unemployed college student because that’s the last time I was ever that damn happy. I stealthily start to scroll through my pre-set stations trying to see if the beats will match hers in desperation to steal an ounce of her happy. Damn you 6-station limited radio player….because clearly if I had a 7th it would have matched my new arch enemies.
This has turned into a challenge; to compete I pop in that CD that everyone plays when you’re feeling fresh. You know, the one after you just left the shop, picked up a new pair of shoes, and got ya stunna shades on. The one CD that you can sing to the love of your life and the chump that never knew what he had. Clearly, it’s Beyonce! My finger slips as I push the broken skip button to get to number 8 in time to get to the good part before she drives off. And then I belt out! I sing to the top of my lungs the opening lyrics, my eyes are closed, and I am dancing! I am feeling myself y’all. I mean the volume is blasting and I am Sasha Fierce. I look over to gloat at my non-taxpaying vice and to my surprise she starts dancing with me! Instantly we are united and on one accord.
HONK! HONK! HONK! HONK! HONK!
I run through the light seeing my vehicle predecessor perform expletive sign language. By this time I am in tears with uncontrollable laughter. And immediately I forget that a client spent five minutes cursing me out; I forget about that fight that caused a loss of a friendship; I even forget that I wrote my cable bill a week late (until I get home).
I send cosmic gratitude to my beach bunny competitor for showing me that Singing With the Volume Up does more than increase my chance for a hearing aid, but serves as a washcloth for the days muddiness. I vowed to sing more often; and loudly!
Always with love,