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  • Waiting for a ride

No Fun, No Heat, Just a Ride


WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 16
I’m wedged in the back seat of a Honda CRV next to a child seat, the kind that seems to be permanently attached. There is barely enough room for me and the little seat is digging into my ribs. It’s horribly uncomfortable plus, I cannot attach my seat belt – whatever the connection is has been taken over by this contraption. The driver does not acknowledge the fact that there is not an adequate seat for an adult in the back of this huge SUV, nor does she respond to my question about a seat belt.

It’s a cold, wet day and there’s no heat in this car. The driver is a plump be-spectacled woman in her late 20s, early 30s. Her long dull brown hair is pulled back in a pony tail. No make up, no frills. No heat.

The passenger in the front seat is a guy with a shaved head who is about the same age. Both of these folks are wearing dull gray and black clothing. Combined with my physical discomfort, these 2 people are so drab and emotionless I feel like I’m in a prison van. About half-way through the ride the driver rolls down her window and icy air fills the SUV. Fortunately, just as I’m about to complain, she rolls it back up. These kinds of rides, and happily they are few, make me feel like a piece of cargo. It’s just a ride.

Traffic is heavy and sluggish; we’re moving at about 20 mph. Plenty of time to admire the beautiful bay. Lavender-grey and white puffy clouds filter the morning sun and the city softly glows across the choppy winter waters. A solitary snow-white egret hunches over the shallow shoreline pools by Emeryville.

We zip past the gridlocked toll plaza at 60 mph and are in the city by 8:15 a.m.

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