Petrol-headed

This afternoon, after a meeting that lasted over 5 hours I realized that after the brain is tapped out, there's pretty little use for it. For the life of me, there was no getting back in the groove. All brain activity that was left could only command my hand to bring the pizza to my mouth and it in turn to chew and swallow. So in the office, I was reduced to mundane work, like stapling my receipts and doodling boobs all over my notebook. Takes me back to my days in college (except I didn't have a notebook then, only the hard wooden surface of my desk).

I should have just left, went home and recharged. But the sun was out, and it was hot as hell. Taking advantage of the office's free airconditioning wasn't a bad thing at all. Plus there was pizza, so I stayed put.

Then the familiar urge hit me, so I braved the hot and humid Manila air and choked myself on some cancer sticks outside the building. To amuse myself, I started counting cars passing me by while reconstructing the song "Counting Blue Cars" in my head. Well, tried to reconstruct it anyway, I never got past the chorus. Then the game turned into an hour of envy. There were all these cars passing by, and I wanted one of my own. Sure, cars are pretty impractical most of the time, specially when you live a short and convenient commute from the office. But I wanted one, if only to be able to escape the drudgery of my boring existence.

Okay, so if I was to buy a car, what should I get? Ahh, there's that debate again, the one I've been having with myself since I've decided to save up for one. Brand new or second hand? Japanese or Korean? (American and European models are just way off my budget, sadly) Smart car or bad ass SUV? This is just one of those choices where you know whichever one you pick, you'll be picking the wrong one. Fortunately, I don't have to torture myself in the short term so I stub out my cigarette, light up another one and move on.

Hypothetically, let's say I buy a car this morning. Where do I go? Home, of course is the last place you're going to think of. The day you get your first car, your mind goes nuts and you become that reckless teenager once again about to squander your life's savings on your first lap dance. This is one of those milestones in a man's life, the first bottle of beer, the first time you see an actual boob, bases 1 through 4, and I'm told the birth of your first child. You just can't let these moments go to waste.

So where to? With whom, or should I go solo? Do I bottle up a sample of that new car air? Should I head to the beach or the mountains? How long should I wait before I allow myself to fart inside the car? Obviously, these big decisions have to be made. I just hope I'll be ready with my answer when that time comes.

Last weekend, I actually got to driving again. It might have felt good, if only I was sober enough to enjoy it. It was 5 in the morning, I just sobered up but was sort of still out of it. I was too concentrated on the road than on the feel of the pedals and wheels. What a waste.

So I guess I miss driving, having the power to decide your own fate and the direction you're headed to. And as I was standing there finishing up my last stick of cigarette, I hated all those drivers passing by, taunting me with the smell of their fumes and the sweet sound of an internal combustion engine. While I sit in the bus, pre-destined to take a certain route, these guys can decide which road to take, to stop and take a leak when they felt like it, to brake just a tad harder than necessary just because.

Just before I stubbed out the last embers, a guy in a tiny Hyundai drives up the garage and guns the engine one last time before cutting it off. He was car number 203, the bastard.