Drive-by-Holla

For those of you that have not yet had the pleasure of visiting our fabulous nation's capital, allow me to paint you a picture ... It's a Monday morning, six-thirty a.m. I wake up to a clear sky, I see no rain in sight, the roads are DRY, (thank god). Barbara Harrison of NBC 4 News announces that the traffic report is up next. I grab the remote and quickly crank up the volume wondering if one of my fellow Washingtonians dropped the ball on the beltway, thus wreaking havoc on the other 225,000 drivers that must share the infamous sixty-mile stretch of stress and asphalt.

I am ecstatic when I hear that all lanes are open today. No one fucked up, all is well. Awesome.

Only a mere 14 miles of highway separate my apartment and my office. Got that? Only 14 miles. Let's do the math: if I want my bonus at the end of the year, my ass is to be planted in my cube no later that nine o'clock each morning. The average person might think that 45 minutes of driving time should be enough to accomplish this simple feat. (Did I mention that the average person often makes me laugh hysterically?) Driving the speed limit of 55 mph would get me to work in approximately 20 minutes with lights. We all know that doesn't happen; let's say I am able to plod along at an average of 30 mph, that would get to me to my destination in about 45 minutes ... nope, wrong again!

I can easily count on an hour and a half of sitting in my Civic, smoking way too many cigarettes, listening to Tupac and The Cure on one of my various mixed CDs, drinking whatever caffeinated beverage I was able to get my hands on, while text messaging my friends that are stuck in the very same nightmare.

It's a bit warm outside today. I have no AC in my car. Down go the windows. What is the point of listening to my fabulous mixed CDs if I don't listen to them at full blast? My left leg begins to ache half way through my repulsive commute from constantly switching between first gear and second ... first then second ... neutral ... stop ... wait ... first then- nope, no second this time ... balance the clutch ... watch the engine rev and waste my $2.75 a liquid gold gas ... neutral. Ugh.

With so much time and so few available diversions, what is one to do with these three hours each day? I try to entertain myself, but, lately, more and more people are looking to others to cure their boredom.

An example ... I am crawling along Interstate 495, minding my own proverbial business, when I see some sort of commotion in my peripheral vision. Without turning my head, I can see the movement is happening in the driver's seat of a small, black car. I don't look.

Inches later, I sense that someone is seriously trying to get my attention. Okay, FINE, I'll bite. I turn my head a few degrees and see a middle-aged man making an exaggerated gesture with his hand that appeared to indicate I should turn my music down. I do not oblige, I'm listening to old-school The Cure for god sakes. Perhaps applying chapstick and continuing a needless text message will make me seem uninterested and otherwise occupied.

Now I hear the faint sound of a shout. He's trying to tell me something. Gee-zus.

Let me just say that I make it a point to look top notch for work- I manage a team of men and, well, being their daily source of eye candy seems to make my life a lot easier. I know I'm looking stellar in my less than stellar car, rocking out to "Love Song," smoking my Marlboro Ultra Lights, treating my not-so-dry lips, trying to appear popular on the cell; I can see why one might want my attention.

Stuck in neutral with my foot on the brake, I snap my head to the left and project a semi-menacing glare that says, "What the fuck do you want?" Oh, you want me to turn my music down? Really? Fine. I press mute and he smiles.

I can tell by the shark gills on the side of his car that he is driving a Bimmer; an M-Series, nice. More importantly, he's HOT and he looks pleased. We both crawl forward and I bow my head a bit and crack an unintended smile. He shouts, "Doesn't this suck?"

I wonder if I should answer or chock this experience up to a desperate man just looking for easy prey already ensnared in a trap we call traffic. But, he is attractive, why not play along?

"Always," I shouted back.

We're inching forward, my clutch leg is trembling a bit; I am missing my favorite part of the song - this better be good.

"You're gorgeous. I just wanted to let you know," he shouted. I wondered if this was real or if I was falling into some hallucinogenic state from seeing the same bumper for the past hour.

I mustered up a giggle thinking he was just bullshitting me.

"Let me buy you a drink after work!" he shouted.

I kept thinking that this was nothing but an act of pure desperation.

"I have a boyfriend!" I shouted back. I lied.

Inching ... inching ...

"That's too bad! You're beautiful!"

He rolled up his window and continued on. And that was it. No lingering, no uncomfortable silence while approacher decides how to flee from aproachee. Deed done. Move on.

I keep an eye on his route and watch him continue on 495 while I make my way over to the Wisconsin Avenue exit. As I pull right and he stays straight, I wonder, what did I just do?

My cousin dated a guy for three years that she met in this exact way. They were both stuck in traffic, he liked what he saw, she liked what she saw, they exchanged numbers, started dating, moved in together, he graced us with his presence at family functions, the whole shebang. She managed to find a financially-stable, attractive, brain surgeon, that drove a luxury car, which just so happens to be what she considers an ideal match. Can you believe it?

Neither could I. And for good reason - I discovered on DontDateHimGirl.com that he worked in landscaping and his father worked at a car dealership that just so happened to sell Jags.

Am I jaded? Probably.

But, when you really break it down, how is the guy that likes to "holla" on the beltway any different than that guy who comments on your produce selection at the grocery store, or, that guy at the bar that just happens to love your smile and wants to tell you all about it, or, that guy at the dog park that just happens to have a poodle too and wants to make sure you know that means you both have something in common?

If you think about it, the guys at the stores, the bars and the parks have you socially cornered. Most cognizant human beings would think ignoring compliments and queries is rude, and if the guy is not attractive, well, then it's just mean. In these situations, you can't just roll up your windows and drive away! You are not in the sanctity of your car, a personal "place" that you own and in which you spend quite a bit of time; you are in a public area where anyone can say anything and socially speaking, you should have a response.

In my humble opinion, the drive-by-holla takes far more balls than does a public salutation. Once in our mobile-spaces, we are not socially required to give anyone anything. Ignoring everyone and anything around you is completely acceptable, and expected.

Most people, myself included, don't look when they hear someone shout or see someone wave, but why? Women desire a confident male specimen - they always have and always will. I believe a certain confidence is required to approach a woman in a manner that in all likelihood will end in rejection.

Mr. M-Series is going to have a drink after work whether I am there or not. Does it really matter if I meet him before he gets out of his Bimmer?

Ladies, if we can conduct our search for Mr. Right in crowded, smoky bars, then what exactly is the harm in finding him while in the safety of our self-preserving cars?

Sydney Savage is an International Conference Coordinator by day and gregarious Washingtonian by night. Feel free to criticize her opinions by emailing her at sydneysavage@hobotrashcan.com.