You're so vain, I'll bet you think this song is about you

The smoke billowed out the car window as I exhaled into the summer air. My hand absently and automatically reaches to change the channel on the radio. It’s hot and traffic seems to be coming to a halt in the distance.

“Damn it.” I mutter to the vacant seats in the car.

Work was long, and the amount of people calling about insurance and securities online courses who can’t use a computer is painstaking. Numbers are not case sensitive and I can’t believe I had to explain that to someone over the phone. I’m frustrated and I’m anxious.

Anxious to get to class before others to carefully select the seat that I will intentionally hoard as mine, glaring at anyone who dares to sit there through the semester. A creature of habit, my ability to thrive and focus is dependent upon selecting the right seat. I begin to rehearse again, the inevitable introduction that must be made, as it is in every class or new work environment. I feel like a member of Alcoholics Anonymous each time I introduce myself. Instinctively I want to be clever, say something funny. I am funny. I can totally do this.

“My name is Jenn Crawford, I was born and raised in Tucson and just recently moved back to Arizona from Michigan. In my spare time I can be found being passive in food decisions with my friends or driving aimlessly.” I press my foot onto the break pedal swerving into another lane.

“FEEL FREE TO JUST CUT ME OFF ASS BUTT!” I shout out the window, flicking the ash off my cigarette into the wind. I check my phone then flick the hot plastic on the dash to engage the turn signal, my cue to exit the freeway.

I have this secret love/hate relationship with writing classes. On one hand it forces me to write, something I don’t do nearly as much as I used to. On the other hand, I hate the pretention that comes with other writers including myself. Or maybe that’s just me; maybe I am the pretentious one without reason to be. It’s probably me, I think.

“My name is Jenn Crawford, and I am a pretentious ass hole,” I say to a mixed crowd of faces. They all stare at me and then in one automated voice reply.

“Hi Jenn.”

Comments

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Lyrically Speaking

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