Keeps down the sound.
Keeps down the sound.
Solo driving went quite well yesterday.
Funnily enough, there was a Kancil, with the letter ‘P’ stuck freshly on its windscreen, going really slow on the left lane (and rightly so) while I was on my way home from work. The other cars that followed a wee bit too close, were having a hard time trying to maneuver and overtake the car. Surprisingly enough, there were no impatient honks and middle fingers raised, as were the norm these days; and especially so in the City of Road Bullies.
Well, it came across as a consolation of some sort. Yesterday was my second day driving alone. I had a bad experience on my first day, which was about a month ago – the sky was very dark, and it had to rain cats, dogs, cows, goats, and everything else then. There were fallen tree branches and leaves on the road. I was quite shaken (although I managed to get home in one piece), and I eventually reverted to being a wimp and having my father accompany me on my way to and from work. That was the day when the thunderstorm made the front pages of the newspaper, with flash floods and long traffic jams in various parts of town. Then again, some of you might be screaming in your heads, ”... but it’s just a thunderstorm!”
If I had to evaluate myself, today’s performance went to a C. After making an L-turning, I misjudged the distance of the tag detector and had to wave frantically to touch my access tag on the machine, in order for the metal barrier to go up to admit me into the company premises. That was after I had to resort to pulling off my seatbelt, apply the hand brake, open the car door, and start to step out. Just as I did that, the security guard dutifully lifted the metal barrier, supposedly to save me from my troubles. Thus began the work of strapping myself back into the car again.
I wonder how long did the security guards in the guard house guffaw, nudge shoulders at each other and crack lame jokes about lady drivers after I drove off…
I was thinking, though: if I continue doing that for another few times, perhaps they would mark my car and I, automatically lifting the metal barrier so I need not reach out to touch the tag on the detector next time. Perhaps I can live with the chuckles and jokes for another six weeks.
Well, too bad. I have the ‘P’ sticker on my windscreen, too (although in actuality, it was not suppose to be there).
My intended peaceful and enjoyable second viewing of About A Boy was marred by the presence of She Who Asks Incessant Movie Questions, who joined me halfway through the movie. Bad idea, for I simply do not appreciate anyone disturbing me when I am watching my favourite movie. I had to ignore her.
Yes, apparently I can be a bitch whenever I choose to. Sigh.
Hugh Grant looked strangely sexy when he was at the hairdresser’s.