In times like these, I remember the words of my Dashboard Jesus.
Oh, the Jesus on my Dashboard can talk. I should have mentioned. How or why doesn’t really matter, it’s not relevant to the story, you just need to know that he can.
Okay, fine, I don’t know why DJ can talk. He just started one day. Honestly, the hard part now is getting him to shut up. He sings along with the radio. He’s…not good.
Anyway, in times like these, I remember the words of my Dashboard Jesus.
We were going to…
Huh. Where were we going? This was in Raleigh, I’m pretty sure. Yeah, yeah, he started talking my sophomore year of college when I was in New Orleans, and then I transferred out for my last two years. So I was in Raleigh…oh, I must have been going to work. I worked at this super shitty seafood place, really, I told everyone I knew to go to the Joe’s Crab Shack down the street because even their retail food and gift shop and the mind melting awkwardness of having a waiter tie a lobster bib around your neck was better than getting food poisoning from the salmon that ‘fell off a truck.’ I wonder if that place is out of business yet. Hold on.
Oh. My. God. It burned down? Look at this article! A couple of years ago…owners crying…’tragic for the city’…wow. Wow. They said it was an accident? Bull the fuck shit it was. I am telling you, this dude burnt his own restaurant down for the insurance money. I bet he bought a bunch of bougie shit, too, like one of those yachts you can park a jet ski in.
What?
Oh, yeah, DJ.
So, I was living in Raleigh and I was going to work and this complete dipstick in a lifted truck with those stupid truck testicles cut me off and…
No, it wasn’t that time. That time I had Roger in the car and DJ knew not to talk to Roger. Roger was, like, heavy Evangelical. He lives somewhere deep in North Carolina and his wife and daughters all wear ankle length jean skirts. That level of religious, and DJ knew he wouldn’t be cool with it. He turned out to be a prick in the end for other reasons so I sort of wish DJ had said something. Maybe Roger would have jumped out of the car going seventy down the highway and saved us all a ton of trouble.
If it wasn’t that time, it must have been when I almost got pushed off the road by that ninety year old…
No! I remember now! It wasn’t Raleigh, and I wasn’t going to work! It was after I’d graduated and had my first job up in Hartford and I was driving up and through New York and I was stuck in traffic trying to get over the George Washington Bridge. Terrible situation. Never try to get through New York in the middle of the day.
This idiot merged into me. Well, almost. I slammed on my brakes and missed him by bare inches. And then he has the audacity to honk at me and flip me off. Like I did anything besides mind my p’s and q’s. This is why I don’t drive anymore, you know? I take public transportation as much as I can or I just don’t go. My blood pressure was so fucking bad when I was driving every day, you have no idea, I seriously don’t know why this country can’t be more like Europe. Everyone here thinks getting on the bus is something to make fun of but driving fucking sucks, dude, I live off my bus pass.
What?
Oh, yeah, DJ.
This guy almost me hits me, and I’m raging, and DJ, who had been singing along with the radio…I think it was Lady Gaga or something…yeah, it was Alejandro…anyway, he stops singing, and stares at me, and just when I’m about to get out of the car and start beating his stupid Jeep with my tire iron, DJ says something I’ll never forget.
“Fuck ‘em.”
What?
No, that was it. It’s, like, a life message, see? ‘Fuck ‘em.’
I mean, it can mean whatever you want. That’s why it’s so profound.
It is.
God, whatever, I’m going to Chipotle.
High Urban Fantasy Jazz 