The Long Drive Home

Photo Credit: K2D2vaca (Flickr.com)

George hated his commute. Especially on days like today.

“Will… you… MOVE?!” he shouted at the Cadillac in front of him, which had decided to stop and let three cars in front of it instead of advancing his lane any further. He didn’t mind it when people were polite, but this was ridiculous. There was a hill ahead, and a curve beyond that, so it was hard to see how far the traffic was backed up. But from where Carl was sitting, things were practically at a standstill, and it didn’t look like they’d be getting better soon.

It was upsetting. He’d had big plans for tonight — he was going to grill up some steaks he’d left marinating, make himself a bloody mary, and sit on the back porch and relax and unwind a little bit. Work had been awful today — well, it was always awful, but today had been especially horrifying. He’d been dealing with a client who he just couldn’t please, and he felt like garbage when it was all said and done.

And now… this. There was no easy way off the interstate for at least another mile, and the off-ramp was likely to be just as backed up as the interstate itself. It was going to be awhile. George shifted in his seat. He had to pee, badly. He’d considered going before he’d left the office, but nope, he’d figured that his measly 30-minute commute wouldn’t be a problem today.

He turned up the radio, and found himself getting irritated with the chattering DJ. He flipped through a few stations, trying to ignore the pressure between his legs. But it wasn’t going away.

The Cadillac inched forward, finally. George inched with it, and slammed on his brakes as he saw brake lights again. Another car pulled in front of the Cadillac. George cursed, and contemplated getting out of his car and pissing all over the side of the Cadillac in defiance.

The pressure seemed to swell at the thought, and George undid his seatbelt so he could shift again. What were you supposed to do in these situations? There was no civilized way to deal with this. He couldn’t just get out of his car and go on the side of the road. People got arrested for things like that, especially when they were wearing suits. A bum could probably get away with it. But the police didn’t like it when obviously sane people violated the law.

George shifted again. He was going to have to do something, soon. The Cadillac inched forward a little more, and he followed it before he once again came to a stop. He started groping around in his back seat, and eventually came up with a halfway-full bottle of water. Perfect. He rolled down his window, dumped the water out, and held it down near his pants. Looking to his right quickly, he made sure the car next to him didn’t have anyone watching, then unzipped his pants and tried to position things so he could take care of his problem.

It was awkward, and very nearly messy, with a lot of stopping and starting. It seemed to take forever, and he was worried he was going to have to stop mid-stream, dump out the bottle, and then continue. But fortunately, the pressure eased, and he was able to stop before long. He put the cap on the bottle and sighed in relief.

The car behind him honked.

The Cadillac had pulled forward, and someone in an SUV from the next lane over was trying to pull in. George floored it, and had to brake almost as suddenly before he slammed into the Cadillac. The woman trying to inch over honked and shot him a nasty gesture. And then, just as suddenly, she had a horrified expression on her face. She quickly turned her head.

George considered this for a moment, and then realized he’d forgotten something. Cursing silently, he rearranged himself and zipped up his pants. It required him to shift a little bit, which was even more awkward. He glanced sheepishly over at the woman when he was done. She was looking down at his car, talking into a cell phone. George had a sinking feeling that she was calling the police … something that was confirmed when he saw her turn her camera and take a picture of his car.

Writing Scraps

by Sean J. Jordan