Why I Don't Drive (Much)

I...

...shouldn't be allowed to drive. Actually, I shouldn't be allowed near cars at all. I'm not saying that I'm a bad driver - I've never been in an accident or like, read a book while driving - but I'm nowhere near great.

And yet, I have doctors who have offices in bumfuck Virginia, and I'm sorry, but I am not taking the metro and then a goddamned bus to get to the freaking gynecologist. Just... no.

The best solution is to drive my roommate's car - complete with snow tires - (really) - all the way to Fairfax. Here, now, is where our story begins.

I was born and raised in suburban Detroit -- Downriver, if you will. It was all about the Tigers, the Wings, bad hairstyles, and fast cars (notice I didn't mention the Lions? It's never been "all about" the Lions. Please).

The first cars I remember were Buicks - my mom's Skylark and my dad's Regal. Once, we excitedly piled into the Regal and my dad slowly drove it around the block so we could all watch the odometer roll over to 100,000 miles.

Seriously.

(Then again, that's probably more of a familial quirk than a Michigan quirk.)

Anyway, once I received my learner's permit, I had the choice of two cars with which to scare the hell out of my parents. My mom's Ford Windstar (that my brother nicknamed, "The Pimp Van") or my dad's Chevy Camaro. Which car do you think I chose, and which car do you think I usually ended up with?

While I didn't get to drive the Camaro as often as I would have liked, once I got my license and a cute little Ford Escort, I really learned how to drive. Driving in Michigan was like participating in a perpetual drag race. It's got to be why I-75 exists at all, really. Everyone drives fast and that's just the way it is. Unless you're my grandfather, who drives ten mph under the speed limit as a rule. Lord.

When I moved to Arlington, the drivers immediately pissed me off. They were SO slow, SO unreactionary, and SO utterly ignorant to what was happening around them, that I avoided driving as much as possible. Virginia drivers seemed to be the worst, but maybe that's because I didn't get up to Maryland all that often. My stress level skyrocketed, I heard myself yelling the most horrific things at other drivers, and I started dreading my trips to the grocery store.

When I moved to the Hill, I took the 'Scort back to it's rightful home in Michigan and have no plans to get a car anytime soon. It was a very good decision.

Except for the doctor's appointments, that is. Getting all stressed out is the last thing I want to do before arriving at one of my many doctors' offices, but driving around here brings out the absolute worst in me and I arrived at my Tuesday appointment annoyed, sweaty, and flustered. I could tell you about my journey, but if you drive in DC, Virginia, or Maryland, I'm sure that you've heard it all before: asshat drivers, complete obliviousness, near accidents, and unnecessary traffic jams. Same stuff, different day.

"But why don't you find good doctors in DC, Heather? Wouldn't that solve things?"

Ah, yes, it would. But these doctors were recommended to me and now I love them and cannot live without them. LOVE. Especially Muffi. I heart her.

It really makes me feel for those who have to commute every day. Sucks to be you, guys. Sucks to be you.