Driving Me Crazy

My whole life, I’ve been striving to live my dreams. However, lately its been in a much more literal sense. You see, I’ve become a bit of a troubled sleeper. Night after night, I keep having the same strange reoccurring dream. During this gorgeous Chicago fall, when the windows are meant to be open, and the sound of rain is a common, it seems sack religious to be tossing and turning perfect nights of sleep time away. There’s a smoky coolness in the air, that makes me want to burrow under my Pepto-Bismol sheets, and drift into a serendipitous dreamland. I give myself the talk each night as I lie there listening to the hum of my ceiling fan. Ok so maybe tonight I’ll dream of Ryan Renold’s proposing to me on a moonlit cruise with his grandmothers princess cut diamond in a pave setting and a bouquet of rare tiger lillys from South Africa. No, already dreamt that…Maybe I’ll stick with the old standby: I’ll dream of the day my credit card had no limit and I bought the entire shoe room at Von Maur…Eh no… pretty much have already done that and that’s not working out so well with the old checkbook… hmmm …..well? what about the one where that cute cabaña boy strums the ukulele and feeds me grilled cheese sandwiches and Mac and cheese while my body mystically looses 10 lbs…oh yea I like that one. Ok…ready…set…cabana boy…cabana boy…cabana boy…but like most everything in life…once I begin slowly drifting away I am no longer in control of my dreams and again and again I find myself without Ryan Renolds, or my shoes, and no grilled cheese sandwiches…but rather on a road in a car with people yelling at me to hurry up and drive.

It always starts the same: I’m in a car and someone is urging me to drive it. Not just like, “hey wanna drive today” but more like “C’mon Jessica!!! Drive the freaking car!!!!” The people, the places and the car is always changing…though I do believe the car is usually made by General Motors ( :) Test drive the new Chevy Volt, America’s first all electric car!) uh sorry what was I saying…Anyways, I end up trying desperately to drive the car from the back seat or passengers seat. It never works well and there’s always this feeling of controlled helplessness, like I know I need to just jump into the drivers seat, but I never do and I cant seem to make myself no matter how bad my vision of the road is, or how much I want to please the person in the car.
Ok take it easy Freud, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that this is clearly a metaphor for feeling like I’m not “in the drivers seat of my own life”. But that can’t possibly be true…and quite frankly…I blame Chicago.

The Second City is famous for its public transit system. And upon the ending of my 2 year lease with Ford. I find myself in the strange situation of not having my own car for the first time since I was 19 years old, which is especially weird because my job is to promote and talk about cars. I guess it’s a blessing and a curse at the same time. For starters parking is a nightmare in my neighborhood, and most of the places I frequent, I can walk or take the train. Not having a car is cheaper, less messy, better for the environment and good exercise. But there is a sense of independence that feels lost. Nothing is like your own car, with your music, and your time to think, or make calls or sing at the top of your lungs….whatever. When I get into a cab its just not the same. I try to make it my own for the short time that I’m passengering along. I immediately roll down the windows. I wanna feel the wind in my hair, I wanna gaze at the world going by. I wanna hear the perfect song, at the perfect moment, while stopped at a red light when the sun is setting in the rearview. Sure like most things in my life, maybe my expectations are a little high. But while most people drive their cars everyday, riding in a car is less frequent for me, so what’s wrong with wanting it to be the destiny of car rides every time? And this is what’s wrong with my subconscious.
It all leads back to the other day. Like most of my life fantasies where I am Holly Golightly, having breakfast at Tiffany’s. The reality is I am Jessica Reschke skipping breakfast and desperately trying to hail a cab on Broadway to make it to work on time because I snoozed away most of my morning get ready time away. After hailing for 10 minutes and seriously contemplating the cliché of showing some leg, or something else, a yellow cab rounds the corner, and his light is on. I jump in.
So not my dream ride. The driver is on his cell phone speaking another language, and the sun is hidden behind several clouds. Lakeshore drive is a parking lot. Talk radio is on, with people arguing about politics. And there is an old Italian beef wrapper from Portillo's sliding dangerously close to my new black, peep toe, Chinese Laundry ankle boots. I ride along staring at the meter wondering if I should really let it go above 8 dollars for an additional 200 feet. I mean these boots are new, with a 4 inch heel…and it looks like it might start raining at any second….And I totally forgot my umbrella because I’m using my little white Guess purse that I bought in Vegas when I still had my favorite store: Ross, and money, and getting caught in the rain was as rare as getting a bouquet of pink roses for absolutely no reason….Then just when I’ve reached the threshold of crazy, the cab comes to a halt, the driver taps the meter and that magical 50 cents adds to the total. On a very serious side note: Why do they do that anyways?…Can’t that meter just be honest about how much its going to charge you?…Why does it have to add on money at the end when your getting out?…its so annoying! Reminds me of that sneaky bitch: Sales Tax. I mean like the other day I was scarf shopping and I said to myself: “Hey! This scarf costs 48 dollars”… and I think, “well lets look at the facts here…it’s a nice scarf for under 50 bucks…I’m sure I’ll use it a lot… I am in the Midwest now, and it matches my black trench and my puffy winter coat, and my new CL boots (previously mentioned) but most importantly, I’m sure it will look stunning when what’s his name asks me to go on one of those horse drawn carriages downtown and THIS VERY SCARF is dancing in the light fall breeze with my perfect curls of gold, under a moonlit sky, while the orange and red leaves begin falling…sigh…yes…sold…. I go to pay, still in a daze, and then that sneaky Tax jumps on. As the sales girl is swiping my card I realize “OMG I just spend over 50 bucks on a friggin scarf?! And I don’t even have a date this week?! Ugh! gonna be stove top and ramen noodles for the rest of my life!” ….but I digress

So anyways back to the moment… the cabby says “8.44” and that’s when I look in my glam pink sparkly wallet to realize I spent my last wad cash on the new Glamour and some Hagen Daz yesterday on an emergency, late night CVS run. “Damn it!” I say unconsciously aloud. Why didn’t I hang onto my cash for something more important than a magazine and ice cream…I mean I don’t even like J Lo that much and ice cream between the hours of 12 and 8 am is completely inappropriate- everyone knows that! Ugh! Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! Well it looks like there’s only one thing to do… As if in slow motion, I look him in the eye, and in my best Dr. diagnosing a sick patient voice, I am forced to say the one thing dreaded by every and all Cab drivers. “I’m sorry, I only have my debit card.”

And then that’s when he gives me the look. You know…the look, the look that says: “OK lady, why did you even hail me if you knew you didn’t have any cash…you kids today with your debiting, just swiping away all your directly deposited monies…I’m going to hold this transaction until Oct 5 when your rent check has just cleared, and on that day I hope this 8.44 or whatever your total is after you tip me overdraws your account…and its probably not even worth the tip your going to give, and now the IRS is going to get 70 percent of this tip rather than me pocketing the whole thing all because you had to eat Cookies and Cream and read about the 10 signs He’s Not Going to Call…Man, I should have taken the long way”

So maybe he’s not thinking exactly that….but something along those lines is defiantly happening, and its all quiet and serious, and all you can hear is faint dial up of the credit card machine, while he sits there pondering the possibility of my card declining…and I’m holding my breath praying it doesn’t, and then finally the obnoxious strumming of the receipt printing. Sigh its almost over…I awkwardly take the small white paper and as I sign it I make some bad joke about the weather being as bad as the Cubs, to which I get no response. I add a generous tip and bolt out the curbside door as fast as my peep toes will carry me.
This experience on a day to day will give anyone nightmares. Someone really should warn people about the dangers of cab fare lockdown. Who knew it could be so scary to be chauffeured. There are no Tony Danzas out there anymore, ya know? Its rough in the city! This is a serious issue effecting people of the Chicagoland area, day and night. Waking and for some even dreaming. Something has got to be done. I’ll call Mayor Daley in the morning and suggest ATMS in Cabs. That way this mess can be avoided, and I can apply my lipstick properly at the little mirror on the upper right hand corner. Still shaken by the expierence and clutching new black scarf I make my way down the street to work. Maybe tomorrow I will remember to have some cash on me…or I can always wear my flats and walk to work… I catch a glimpse of myself in a shop window. Love those boots…ummm maybe not. Smiling I decide: tomorrow I will buy some extra strength Tylenol PM and call Mayor Daley.

Some things in life are just worth the struggle