Saturday mornings are the best time when the whole weekend is still stretching out ahead, unwashed.
I can't remember what I was going to talk about anymore.
Matt was an actor.
One morning when I pulled up outside Matt's house, he opened the car door, tossed his coffee cup in the cup holder, changed my radio station, and began rehearsing his monologue without even saying good morning. All before I pulled away from the curb. Sometimes Matt was so obnoxious that I wanted to choke him. Instead I offered to drive him to and from work for two weeks.
A few minutes later he finally deigned to speak to me. "Watch out for the roads here; they're treacherous."
I looked at the span of road ahead of me, which was straight and completely clear as far as I could tell.
"What do you mean, treacherous?" I asked him.
Instead of explaining what was treacherous about the roadway, Matt took a condescendingly patient tone as though I was three years old and began to provide me the definition of the word treacherous.
I drove Frank to and from work a few times as well. Frank was a lighting technician.
The first thing Frank said was, "Thank you for the ride." The next thing was, "Why do you have an egg on your ceiling?"
These are the kinds of things that techies can't understand. "I ... drew it..."
"Yes, I can see that. But why? And why is it on the ceiling? And what's this?"
"You drew that too."
"And coloured it."
"And taped it to the ceiling of your car?"
"So that means that this here is supposed to be toast?"
"A full breakfast."
"Right." I thought he was starting to understand when he realised it was breakfast but the slight frown didn't leave his forehead.
"So... thanks for the ride."
Saturday mornings are the best time when the whole weekend is still stretching out ahead, unpasted.