Snapshots of a Modest Life

Riding In Cars With Boys

Every weekday morning, I begin my public life by riding in a car. A quick beep beep summons me out to the car where I am usually greeted by four aging men. My dad hollers "Laura, it's time to go!" as he walks out the front door. Friday the driver was Pops, an old man with a Tennessee accent and thick glasses, by far the oldest looking man in the carpool. "Morning," he says as I slide into shotgun. He puts the car into reverse and we slowly back out of the driveway. "Morning," I reply as I suffle my backpack, lunchbox and water bottle into a comfortable position around my feet. The half hour commute to work wears on, growing increasingly painful by the minute. Pops feels that conversation is necessary to ward off awkward silence. I happen to disagree, but the decision is not left up to me. "So what are you doing at work today, Laura?" "The same thing I do every day," I reply as images of a mouse with global ambitions and a large head enter my mind and bounce around like the slender sidekick of my mouse friend. "Oh, right. And what is that again?" he asks. "I sort checks, enter them into the computer, that stuff." I reply, hoping he catches the annoyed tone in my voice. He thankfully does. "Oh right. Thanks for doing that, we really appreciate everything you all do." "No problem." I am getting paid after all, and a lot more than most folks my age with no real work exprience. The rest of the ride is carried out in silence, and I am finally allowed to tilt my head back and sleep for the remainder of the ride.