We assume risk on a daily basis
My wife would like to get back to traveling. But I’m not in any rush.
You see, I don’t think it’s much fun sightseeing in California on a hot day while trying to breathe fresh air through a face mask — especially when the “Made in China” packaging says, “For Non Medical Use.”
I thought getting the jab would put those of us who stepped up to the plate back to normal, but I guess our rulers have other ideas.
Yet a virus may not be the most dangerous part of hitting the road. As an example, take a trip we took a few years ago to Southern California.
We were staying at the Glendale Hilton when the concierge suggested a Long Beach trip to see the Queen Mary. We thought the 1,019-footlong, 1936 Ocean Liner (now a permanently docked hotel) would be an interesting look back in time to see how people journeyed across the Atlantic before the age of long-distance air travel.
“The bus is leaving for the QM right now,” he said. “Why not join them?”
With a sales close like that, how could we say “no?” We climbed on board and plopped our derrieres five seats behind the driver, looking forward to a new adventure.
However, as often happens in life, this “adventure” turned out to be not quite what was expected. As we headed down the 710 freeway, I noticed the bus seemed to be drifting to the left signaled by the tires bumping on the lane markers.
“What’s that all about?” I wondered.
I could see the operator’s face in the rearview mirror. It appeared from my angle he was driving with his eyes closed!
“This can’t be!” I thought. “These tour bus drivers are licensed and trained — aren’t they? It must be from the angle I’m looking. He can’t be falling asleep — can he?”
But then it happened again … again … and again. A nearby car honked, and the bus drifted back into its own lane.
I looked around and no one else on the bus seemed to notice what was happening. Could it be that I paranormally was being transported to an episode of the Twilight Zone starring William Shatner?
What should I do? If I say something, it might panic the other passengers. What if I’m wrong? Even my wife didn’t seem to notice the situation at first.
Looking back, I probably should have gone up front and investigated the driver’s alertness. But I kept my mouth shut, as the bus occasionally drifted on and off another lane all the way to Long Beach.
Upon our arrival, the other passengers disembarked while I stayed behind.
“You looked like you were falling asleep,” I said to the driver.
He didn’t deny it: “Yeah, I had kind of a late night last night,” he answered. “But don’t worry. I’m fine now — really.”
Well, at least I wasn’t in the Twilight Zone. But now there was a new worry:
We had to ride back with this guy. Should we take a chance or call a cab?
I decided to chance it, and yes, he was fine all the way back to Glendale.
It just goes to show how every day we assume some kind of risk in life. COVID-19 is no different. For the vast majority of us, life cannot be lived in a bubble.
Yet an anxiety-filled episode can lead people in different directions when making everyday decisions. I guess that’s why I haven’t ridden on a tour bus since.
Baby on Board
History does repeat itself. Take those “Baby on Board!” signs, for example. They were popular back in the 1980s. Then the parodies started. That caused the yellow diamond-shaped messages to disappear for at least three decades.
Now they’re back, and the parodies have begun again:
“Babe on Board.” “Wolf on Board.” “Bad Driver on Board.” “Spoiled Wife on Board.” You name it.
I’m not sure what the point of these “Baby on Board!” signs is. Most of the time, I don’t see any baby. It’s often posted on a Volvo SUV or Prius sedan with no kid in sight.
What do they expect me to do? Am I suddenly supposed to improve my driving skills because their narcissism tells me to do so? No, I don’t think so. As far as I’m concerned, they can kiss my back window Bart Simpson sign, which says: “Outta My Way, Man!”