I’m Fired.
Hi, I’m Casey Fischer, and you should never hire me to clean anything. I might try to hire you in return. (And I’ll be serious.)
Upon my aunts request that I clean the car soon to be mine, I agreed and headed outside.
Nope, never should have agreed.
Note: I have never worn yellow rubber gloves in my life. Wearing them today to complete the task at hand deeply saddened me. I am not cut out to clean a car. And quite coincidentally, I wasn’t much cut out to drive a car either.
I enjoy the thought of driving, you know? The thought of freedom… the thought of a life. Even my sunglasses and my blackberry look like they belong, sitting in the little console by the cup holders, my keychain dangling from the key in the ignition while I listen to some music of choice.
And while all the pieces fit, I can not seem to motivate myself enough to want to drive. The action terrifies me. What if I don’t stop fast enough? Then again, what if I stop too fast, and the person behind me can’t stop in time to avoid a collision? Is my freedom worth my life? NO. Stepping my foot on the pedal is positively petrifying. The noise the engine makes leads me to believe the vehicle is speeding up much more than it actually is. After reviewing the evidence, I realize that as a mentally and physically unstable driver, I qualify for a personal driver, which should be required by law for people like me.
To the public: I am not a “snob” that needs to be driven, I am an incompetent driver, who needs to be driven.
I thought perhaps if the car looked good, I would be more inclined to want to drive it.
False.
Cleaning it only made me more inclined to sit in the stationary vehicle, while parked in the driveway, with a Diet Coke in hand and music blaring. Hell, I don’t need a life, I’ll just pretend I have one.
[Places Blackberry to ear]
Casey: Hello? …Oh, yeah, honey. I’ll be there in 15 minutes, tops. Do you need anything while I’m on the way? Okay. No problem. Kiss Kiss. Love you.
[Cranks music, places hands on the wheel, her feet far from the pedals, for fear that the car will roll forward or backward, even though the ignition isn’t on]
You see? I could live that way, pretending I have dates and friends. Hell, I’ve lived that way for the past 17 years haven’t I? (insert laugh here. I was kidding. Kind of.)
Story of my life girl!!!
