Friday, November 14, 2008

Down the highway, down the tracks, down the road to ecstasy

Friday, November 14, 2008
The SUV pulls up beside me at the lights. I glance at the driver, interested to see what form Satan has chosen to take on this balmy evening. His face I cannot recall, due to its now permanent association with deep embarrassment and sickening relief. But I remember his wild gesticulations, his 'roll down your shitty purple framed window' exhortations.

The drive up until now has been uneventful. I spend most of it fretting over my performance in the spin class that I have just completed. For the last fifteen minutes I had been barely able to turn the pedals. As I speed over the speed bumps on Palmerston Road, I tick off the excuses in my head.

Bump.

Didn't eat enough today.

You ate your body weight in pasta, you twit.

Bump.

Five spin in 48 hours at the start of the week.

You've done that before, tosser.

Bump.

Yesteray's crash, delayed shock.

What kind of pussy do you take yourself for?

Bump.

Bump, bump, bump.

John Wesley Harding is blasting magically from Riker's discman through an FM transmitter as I fly down Morehampton Road. Previously I used the laptop for driving music but the battery is fucked. Onto the list a new battery goes, along with teaching clothes without pinhole burns and a fucking haircut. I have it with me anyway, the laptop, as it has become essential for spin, with all its music, its inspirational Tour clips and its big shiny stopwatch display.

I am forced to stop suddenly at yet another fucking red light. Should have cycled. Yeah, that would have helped. I feel the imminent total physical collapse in my bones.

It is at the next lights that the paths of myself and Mr Faceless SUV finally cross. I buzz down the window, and as it descends, the man in question is already pointing above my head, towards Purple's roof. The window is down. He speaks to me in a shocked, barely audible voice as he continues to weakly indicate to the space above my tiny, tiny brain.

Can you guess? Can you? Can you? What's on the roof, folks? What has been perched happily atop Purple for the last three miles, through hill and dale, over bumps and potholes?

Yeah, I thought you'd get it. It is, indeed. Oh yes, it is. It's my fucking laptop.

So many emotions. So little time. Still dominating, even now, is the joy I feel at having have provided my readers, my children and most of all, Common Law, with yet another reason to hold me in contempt.

Those non-existent Gods smile upon me, but they do so with a terrible disdain.

17 Johns and Janes for the comment whore:

Conan Drumm said...

Oh that is fucking priceless.
Bu-bump
Did it rain?
Bu-bump
Please tell me it rained.
Bu-bump
A little drizzle, even?
Bu-bump
Delayed shock...

I'd cling to that if I were you. Hug it tightly.

fatmammycat said...

Oh dear, you were obviously deeply distracted. However on a bright note, it didn't fall off and smash into a thousand tiny pieces. Yes, I'm going with the glass half full view.

Medbh said...

You are on quite a posting roll this week, Gimme.
Good man.

gimme a minute said...

Conan:
A clear night I'm afraid. Though I went through a Garda checkpoint just after that.

I suspect that having a laptop on my roof may have gotten me breathalysed.

Fatmammycat:
Common Law gives out to me for leaving the laptop on the front seat beside me.

The glass is half full alright, half full of whoop ass.

Medbh:
Nothing like a meaningless award and a series of near misses to keep the fingers ticking over.

Sniffle&Cry said...

I’m always afraid over here, but because you might be converging on good from, I think I can ask now eventually, what the fuck spin actually is. Please be gentle, I’m forty fucking nine and don’t do gym. And clothes without pinhole burns? Excellent Gimme. Purple patch……

Rosie said...

you're an idiot, babe. it's a wonder you still know how to breathe.

or maybe you're just a lucky shite?

Radge said...

An SUV driver with a conscience. I've heard it all.

catherine said...

Was it still blaring out spin music like a wee roof-mounted ghettoblaster?

gimme a minute said...

Sniffle%Cry:
You're right to be afraid, of both me and spin.

This is me, when I was teaching in Germany. (Holland? Help me, Obi Conortje, you're my only hope)

Rosie:
Yeah, maybe.

Radge:
Yes, that part was particularly odd.

Of course if he hadn't been so fucking high up he probably wouldn't have noticed it.

Catherine:
If only. The battery was long gone, I'm afraid.

problemchildbride said...

I'm inclined to view this incident with YouLuckyBastard-tinted glasses too.

Now go and kiss each one of these little rubber doodads on the bottom of your laptop, and try not to do it in a dirty way.

stipes said...

I was going to post that I should know you better after all these years, but i won't bother.
(btw, how long does spin last)

gimme a minute said...

Problemchildbride:
God bless rubber and all who sail in her. And obliviously under her.

stipes:
Even you, yesterday, had to ask me where it was at.

Bob should have just called her a cunt like I did you. Might have taken from the poetry, I guess.

Spin lasts either 45 minutes or an hour. Yesterday was the hour.

stipes said...

Bob is subtle, your a cunt. Fuck the poetry. 45 mins? I must lie down now.

savannah said...

you are one lucky muthafucka, sugar! xoxo

Common Law said...

That's hilarious and exactly the kind of behaviour I'd expect from an ex-actor.

red leeroy said...

its battery died, it had failed you. what more did it deserve?

gimme a minute said...

stipes:
I meant the subtlety of the poetry but yes, go and lie down.

Savannah:
Such language!

But again, yes.

Common Law:
I'm glad I'm living up to your expectations.

Red Leeroy:
I don't want to get all anthropomorphising with the hardware as I do enough of that with the car and the bikes, but if I was a laptop I believe I'd quite enjoy whizzing through town on top of a purple Ford Fiesta.

So an ineffective punishment, I think.

 
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