One of the perks of the truck that I always mention is its mobility. Regardless of where on the planet I put it, the box is still my room, and once I'm inside, the details of the surrounding world are reduced to nothing more than background noise. Theoretically, I can just park anywhere and make that my home for the night. In reality however, I very rarely spend the night anywhere other than a corporate parking lot, save a few digressions parking downtown after a late night at the bars. The lack of nearby, easy to access showers/facilities is a pretty strong deterrent for me. Tonight however, I find myself in a mildly amusing situation. I'm currently sitting on my bed writing this post (that's not the amusing part), but I'm almost 20 miles away from my usual hideout, and I can hear rhythmic bass thumps coming from the Quinceañera happening not 50 ft away (that's totally the amusing part).
Wait, what was that last bit? Okay, let me back up a bit.
In this post, I mentioned that I got my motorcycle license so I could get a faster electric bike. What I should have said, more accurately, was that I got my motorcycle permit and I had signed up for motorcycle lessons to get my full-fledged motorcycle license. Well it just so happens that those lessons are this currently-occurring weekend: the three sessions were this morning at 6:30 AM, this evening at right now, and tomorrow morning at 6:30 AM. Unfortunately this means I'll have to postpone my break-even party, likely until the weekend after next.
So anyway, the lessons take place in a community center, which happened to also be hosting a Quinceañera (and a wedding and maybe even a Bar Mitzvah, all simultaneously). After completing the relatively strange experience of taking a multiple-choice test while listening to pulsing traditional Spanish music remixed with Drake, I came outside to find my car completely blocked in/surrounded/immobilized by the vehicles (I assume) of party-goers. Interesting. After taking a second to assess the various facets of the situation, I formulated the following potential courses of action:
- Wait it out. I could just wait for a few cars to leave. By the looks of this mess, I'm waiting on at least three different cars to move before there's even a remote possibility that I'll be able to maneuver my awkward hulking mass of faux housecar out of this parking lot without it getting real intimate with some of the surrounding cars. Problem with this idea is that I have no idea when this Quince-wedding Mitzvah ends. It seems pretty rowdy; for all I know they may just be breaking out the Tequilaschewitz now, and it won't be winding down until 6 AM.
- Find the car owners. This has all the maneuverability problems of the previous option, plus I have to hunt down these people (somehow) and hope they aren't completely inebriated. And I have to consider how much everyone would appreciate some random guy running onto their dance floor with a list of license plates. Informal, one-person survey says they wouldn't like it very much.
- Just plow through their cars. The front fender of the truck already looks like a piece of abstract sculpture, would a few more dents really matter? In all seriousness though, I didn't actually consider this a viable option…for more than, like, a minute.
- Just sleep here. Given my inability to structure posts for dramatic effect, you already know this is the option I chose. But think about it: Do I really want to drive 20 miles back "home", wake up at 5:45 AM, and drive 20 miles back here? The much more appealing option is to drive zero miles, and wake up at 6:29:59 AM. I can wash up in the bathroom and I have all the fresh changes of clothes I need with me already. As for showering, I'm going to smell like exhaust from riding in a tight circle behind nine other motorcycles for five hours tomorrow morning anyway, I might as well just shower once I get back.
So yeah, given that list of two mediocre options, one downright bad option, and one fairly reasonable (relative to everything else in my life) option, I think I made the right choice.