On the road again

It's Saturday morning and I am sitting in a huge conference room at the Westin Hotel, Tysons Corner, Virginia. A Tysons hotel conference room with a giant screen displaying the first slide of a PowerPoint presentation screams 8 AM on Wednesday not 10:30 AM Saturday (IYKYK), but I'm not here for work. It's Machine Aquatics Parent - Swimmer Day, and I am a Machine Aquatics parent. My swimmer is sitting next to me, examining his Machine Aquatics gear, which includes two t-shirts, a cap, a car magnet, and a bag tag, all packed into an orange nylon and mesh Speedo bag. It’s a pile of swag, and he’s pretty pleased with it. I’m thinking that two grand is a lot of money to pay for a drawstring bag and some t-shirts, but it’s early for a Saturday and I’m a little salty. 

Why am I salty? I mean, it’s not that early. And the money is not a big deal either, lucky for me. I’m salty because I had to drive to Tysons Corner, which means driving the Capital Beltway, and I really hate driving the Capital Beltway. 

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Last week, I had lunch with some coworkers, one of whom regaled us with stories of her side job as an Uber driver. People, I tell you. The stories. One by one, our other coworkers chimed in with reasons why they could never be Uber drivers. One person could never be an Uber driver because she's very particular about her car and would not want to allow strangers to sit on her upholstery. “I don’t know where these people have been,” she said, shuddering. Another person couldn’t drive for Uber because she’s heard horror stories about people getting robbed and beaten by their Uber passengers, and she would fear for her personal safety. Another said that she couldn’t drive for Uber because she gets lost even with voice-narration GPS. 

That last one is true for me, too. But that’s not the real reason why I can’t drive for Uber. Well, the real reason is that I just really don’t want to be an Uber driver. Should circumstances ever demand that I take a second job, I’ll do it without complaining, but I won’t be driving for Uber. Maybe I’d be a barista. That might be fun. Or I’d work at the front desk of the aquatic center because I’d like seeing all the kids coming in for swim practice. Happy memories. But let’s say that I wanted to drive for Uber or that I was at least not unalterably opposed to the possibility of doing so. I still couldn’t because I am just not a very good driver anymore. 

This is why I hate driving the Beltway. It’s because every time I get on 495, I am once again reminded that I was once a good driver, and now I am not. This is one of any number of things that are true even though I wish they weren't.  

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The Beltway was fine on Saturday. We got to the Westin on time and without incident, and I found outdoor parking, which is always my goal. I never used to mind driving the Beltway but I have always hated subterranean parking garages and now I hate them even more, because dark, cramped parking garages are no place for terrible drivers. Anyway, we arrived safely, and we returned home in much heavier traffic, and I kept a grip, literally and figuratively. My hands were white-knuckle clinging to the steering wheel at 10 and 2 like barnacles attached to the hull of the gosh darn Andrea Doria, but my demeanor was calm. If you didn’t notice how tightly my hands were clamped to that steering wheel (they still hurt), then you would have mistaken me for a reasonable person who didn't have a care in the world. People mistake me for a reasonable person ALL THE TIME. 

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All’s well that ends well. I got us from Point A to Point B and back again, all in one piece, and no one knew that I was terrified the whole time and it seems to me that both of those things represent victory. For now.

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