Okay, so please excuse the inevitably awkward diction on this one, but I am not 100% sober for it and, well, sobriety makes for well-written blogs. Sorry in advance.
So tonight I was walking out of work when my coworker (Ron) caught up to me and asked me if I was going to drive down Kirkman Road. As it happens, I take Kirkman on the way home, so I told him yes and agreed to drive him to Fridays where the two of us wound up having several drinks. He walked the block and a half to his house and I climbed behind the wheel of my own car and headed out towards my apartment.
Having had a couple of drinks and a meal while at Fridays, my buzz has been decent all night. I have that funny tingly feeling in my face that makes me kind of giggle but doesn’t really impair my judgment too much, either. It’s a happy place to be.
So on the way home, I’m jamming out to the current CD I have in my player (Shout it Out by Hanson…don’t judge until you’ve heard it.) when all of the sudden, I realize that the person in front of me is kind of swerving.
Actually, that is an understatement. They were straight weaving in between the little white dash lines. It was the worst example of drunk driving I’ve seen in a while—and that includes the times I’ve curbed my car.
Suddenly (and I’m not sure if this was the booze talking or if I’m just a sap) I felt incredibly protective over this person. I didn’t know who they were or what they looked like…if they were male or female; black or white. I just knew that I had to know if they got home safe or not. It simply wasn’t an option. It was like all of my previous goals: of working on the illustration that was due two days ago and getting home and going to sleep and washing my uniform, etc…all of those things simply didn’t matter anymore. I had to know if they got home okay. (because, you know, if they end up in a fiery car crash, I am so qualified to even help them in that situation. *rolls eyes*)
So we turn down Conroy and the weaving gets worse. It was like, the further we drove the more inebriated they became. Now I had to follow them. I didn’t even have the option. I felt like, if I didn’t tag along, they would die in some horrible drunk-driving fiery crash and that I’d be to blame. So I stalked them. I followed them down Hiawassee and even passed the turn onto Lake Debra (my street). I hit the light at Metrowest Blvd. and strained my eyes to keep track of them as the light took its happy-ass time turning to green. Then I sped up. I jumped up to 60 mph in a 40 mph zone just to catch up to them and watch them turn into the McDonalds drive-thru.
Here’s where it gets ridiculous: I went through the drive-thru. I actually turned in and ordered myself something small just to make sure they were okay. It wasn’t until I had to pause and wait for my fries to come out that I realized that they would just speed off into the abyss once they’d gotten their food.
So now I’m sipping on a hot mocha I didn’t necessarily even want wondering if I am crazy.
Does this make me a stalker? I mean, it’s not a sick thing, really, I just wanted to know that they got home okay. But, on the other hand, I was pretty much following them home. I don’t care where they live or what they do or even who they are—I just wanted them to get home safe.
So am I a stalker-creepy-person or a concerned citizen? I’m just buzzed enough to honestly put it out there with the pursuit of an answer. When I studied paganism, I used to draw the safe-traveling rune on people’s cars.
Actually, fuck it. I’ll fess-up. I still do that. Every single day. It’s illogical and a little superstitious, but I like to think that the positive energy I send out will in some way benefit those I send it to. I like to feel like I have some fragment of influence over the people I care about and, as a result, I have drawn that rune on the cars of every friend and coworker and family member I have for years—and I really mean years. Sorry—I just really do care.
My dad used to tell my mom to drive safely whenever she would take my sister and I to church on Sundays and it’s sort of rubbed off on me. I make most people text me when they get home just so I know they’re okay. Perhaps that is where this comes from. Maybe that’s why I’m following strangers until I lose them if I think they’re too drunk to drive. I mean, after-all, I do draw the rune and send it out to drunk girls at bars and clubs for the same reason. My friends have straight caught me doing it.
Yeah. I’m a little nuts. But am I creepy? That is the real question.
Who knows? My intentions are good, but (then again) so are the intentions of most other creepy people.
Maybe we’re all creeps in different ways.
Oh, well. At least now I have a mocha to enjoy :).