My mother and I found ourselves at an appointment in Oakland this morning, and with her coming from Marin and me from the City, we took seperate cars. As we left, I pulled away from the garage and realized, Shit. I'm in fucking Oakland. How the hell do you get out of this hell hole?
I drove around for awhile until I found myself behind a red Del Sol with vanity plates. Oh, terrific! My mother. She'll get us out of here, provided I hide the fact that I'm smoking. She went to Santa Clara, I figured, and thus must know her way around Oakland. I know my logic isn't very logical, but I'm as comfortable with Oakland as I am with lesbians. I followed mom around until she wandered down a dead end. As she turned around, I made my presence known.
"Oh, hello! Ha! How the hell do we get out of here?"
"Beats the shit out of me." My hidden cigarette down by my feet was starting to light things aflame. "Just go, mom."
My mother is a pretty calculated person. She reads directions when assembling something. I am not. I just guess. I maintain my way is quicker and I'm right 80% of the time. Her way takes longer and she's right 90% of the time. So when I saw her drive east on some ghetto-ass boulevard, I drove west. That's the direction I need to go anyway. "I'm following my nose!" I announced to myself. "I wonder who'll get car-jacked first."
After passing with chain-link-fenced Easy Liquor, I saw an encouraging sign. And then another sign. The next thing I knew, I was heading towards civilization! Haha! I win! At that moment, my phone rang.
"Hey mom, I'm on the freeway." I gloated.
"Oh good. Me too. I asked for directions."
Of course she did. Playin' it safe in Oakland.
I headed across the Richmond/San Rafael Bridge towards work, which is when I realized it. I get to drive past San Quentin. I think it's really amazing that the place where California legally kills people is in Marin and not, you know, out in the middle of nowhere. Thank you, Sacramento! Whenever I drive by what my grandfather would call "Q" I pray really hard that some criminal will run across the freeway and hop in my car, a la Dark Passage. Because I'm not calling 911. I'm picking that felon up!
"Where we goin', Mexico?"
"Bitch, give me your money."
"No, no, no. I'm in!"
"Shut the fuck up and give me the keyes."
"Chill, Ese. I'll be good at this. Seriously.
But I drove right on by. No one escaped on my watch. Not even my prison pen pal...