Dear Enthusiastic Car Dancer,
Yesterday, I was stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic, and I was not happy about it. Nay, in fact, I was rather perturbed by the situation. There I was, anxious to get home, nervous about someone ramming into my shiny new car, and annoyed by the inch-by-inch progress I was making. To illustrate, I felt a bit like Jeremy Clarkson (from BBC’s auto show, “Top Gear“) in this clip:
Frustration mounting, I was tapping my hands on the steering wheel, muttering under my breath, when I glanced into my rear view mirror and saw you. Glorious, unassuming, happy you.
You had the windows of your small, blue sedan rolled down, the breeze mixing with exhaust fumes as it blew through your hair. Though I couldn’t hear it, there was music playing, probably loudly. And you were dancing in your seat like no one was watching. Not just dancing, though; you were grooving. Popping and locking, shimmying and shaking, performing seated-choreography like a backup dancer in their prime.
I imagine you were probably jamming to Lady Gaga, or Katy Perry, or some new pop artist I haven’t even heard of yet. I giggled to myself as the quiet strains of The Eagles crooned through my own speakers. I watched you for a moment, singing into your imaginary microphone, tossing your hair around on your unseen stage, and I was touched. You, young man, inspired me.
I immediately followed your lead, rolling down my own windows and flipping my iPod over to my favorite playlist of dance party songs (because everyone should have one of those, my dear kindred spirit, shouldn’t they?) I opened up my sunroof, let down my hair, and started dancing to the beat of my own drummer.
As traffic began to move again, you turned on your blinker and moved over into the lane beside me. You slowly inched forward, until we were side by side, the bass lines of our different music selections intermingling as they took to the air. I glanced over and we caught eyes, nodding in appreciation over our silent mutual companionship. You shot me a thumbs up and a cheeky grin before you took your exit ramp. Despite your departure, I kept on rocking out, all the way home.
So thank you, Enthusiastic Car Dancer, for reminding me that being stuck in traffic doesn’t have to be tedious and crappy. We don’t have to spend that time annoyed with our fellow man. Instead, I took a page from your book and took my commute from banal to boisterous, all with the simple flick of a switch. And I have you to thank, for teaching me that lesson yesterday. I hope, wherever you are driving to today, that you’re still doing the snake, to the delight of your fellow travelers.
Sincerely, from your commuting comrade,