I just saw a guy being driven around in a black car.
If you’d ever like to look like a badass, buy a black car and get someone to drive you around in it.
Everywhere you go, people will wonder: "Is that guy/gal in the government? Is he/she in some sort of secretive high-level position in which he’s required to make tough choices that decide the fate of democracy and the American dream? Are they/them one of the people who ultimately decides whether good will triumph over evil? Each day does that man/woman/hermaphrodite carry the weight of the free world on his shoulders as he is whisked around to smoke-filled rooms wherein our very lives and futures are being decided? Does that person/people/guy/genius/hero/villian/friend/foe/figurehead/father figure/faith/freedom/other George Michael song title decide every insignificant detail in our lives, from which situation comedy we watch to how much peanut butter we use when we make peanut butter and chocalate chip cookies?"
"Does he?" they’ll wonder.
And they’ll wonder and wonder but never ever really know because they’ll be afraid to ask. "I could ask that guy if he decides my very fate on a daily basis, but what if he hates people who ask to many Goddamn questions for their own good?" they’ll think.
That’s the beauty of the black car. You never have to explain that actually you do none of that impressive stuff. You never have to explain that you’re swept along by the vast sociopolitical machine just like all the rest. You never have to look the poor saps in the eye and say, "Hey! I don’t control the weather and fix the results of TRL! I don’t cover up alien encounters and mastermind intricate left-wing coups in South American countries! I’m just a guy! Like you! Who works at a Blockbuster and struggles each month to make ends meet! Except it’s harder to make my ends meet because not only do I have to pay for all the costs of daily life that you endure, but in addition, I have to pay a guy to drive me around in this black car! And I have to pay him extra each month so he doesn’t spill the beans about me not really being important! I’m just a guy! Just a guy in a black car with a driver! Who uses too many exclamation points!"
You just have to sit back in the back seat of that black car and sigh. You have to sigh and say, "To Blockbuster, guy who drives me around, and step on it. It’s inventory day, and I’ve got a lot of work ahead of me."
And sometimes, when you’re just a guy in a black car, just a guy faking importance in the back seat of a black car, every day seems like inventory day.
And the driver’s hittin’ all the red lights.