I've Got the Fever

The "cab" the hotel called for me this morning was more than the typical yellow taxi. Despite the fact that it was an SUV instead of a creaky old Chevy and despite the fact that SUVs guzzle gas, ruin the environment, and generally piss me off, this one was different. Despite the fact that this cab was a Lexus, which I consider in many respects to be the anti-christ of cars, this car was something else, something dreamy. In my mind, this one was different, very different. I was love-struck. I needed to have a deep relationship with that Lexus. I wanted to have a child with that car!

It was whisper quiet inside the cabin as we whizzed down the freeway toward the Long Beach airport. Soft, luxurious leather seats caressed my skin and, I believe in my heart, whispered sweet nothings in my ear. An incomparable stereo system played soft jazz in the background. And a full-color GPS screen displayed exactly where were were at every moment.

When I commented to the driver about the GPS, he decided to show me some of its features, including a voice recognition system. "Chinese restaurants," he said to the GPS. Nothing happened for a couple of seconds and I started to feel embarrassed for the guy, but then tiny little boxes popped up all over the map on the display. He touched one of the boxes and up popped a little box with the restaurant name, address, telephone number, and link to a mapper. If he had touched the map symbol on the restaurant pop-up, he said, he would be directed visually and verbally how to get there. Then he did another demo: "Amusement parks," he said, and three our four little boxes appeared.

My brain started to scream at me: "Conspicuous consumption! Rich-person's toys! What about the people who are starving?!" But by then I had been seduced. I wanted that vehicle. I stroked the luscious grey leather seat, hoping it would respond. But by that time we were at the airport, and the driver's voice and our rapid decceleration made me realize our little rendezvous was over.

Much later today, I told my wife about the vehicle and said, "I think it was a message from god, telling me I need to buy a vehicle like that." "You don't believe in god," she replied, to which I said, "But I can believe, I can! I promise I will, if only he or she or it will just give me that car. It will be a sign that my atheism has been wrong, wrong, wrong! And it will make me a true believer in automotive miracles!"

She gave me a look the way she sometimes does, the look that at once conveys pity, scorn, and disdain. I turned away quickly, knowing that my rebirth as a true believer would not come soon, nor would my dream vehicle.

Maybe my worsening cold contributed to all of this...but I have to believe there was a connection between us. Now, I'll have to tell the bastard.