The Devil is a back seat driver

Here's story #1 in my long history of stories to tell. This one is unique, but if you change the names and places, it's basically a similar story that most of us have had to deal with at some time or another.

My boss, let's call him DL, asked me to get him a copy of the subway map and show him how to get from the office to the airport? Instead of taking the usual car service, he decides to be adventurous and take public transportation (even though he drove to work, and could also just drive himself to the airport).

So, I spend the next hour tracking flights, getting all the subway maps, times, gate entrance, distance from subway exit at airport to airline gate where he needs to board the plane. He gets ready to go out the door, then turns around and says, “Did you drive to work today?” (Uh, yes, you know I drive every day, because we’ve had conversations ad nauseum about what the best route is to get to work from where I live.)

Everyday he asks me what route I take to work, what route I take home, and then he commences to tell me the bazillian different ways he gets to work, as if he's trying to make it seem his route is better or faster than mine – who cares?!!!

So, then DL says, can you take me to the airport. I say, of course. So, we go get his luggage out of his car, which is parked in the executive garage two floors down within our office building. He asks me where I’m parked. I say right across the street. Then he begins to grill me on what “right across the street” means. I tell him I don’t know the address of the garage, but that IT IS RIGHT ACROSS/DIRECTLY ACROSS/YOU COULDN’T MISS IT IF YOU WERE BLIND – ACROSS THE STREET!

He asks, "What's the address? Is it 74 Broadway? No, that would be the other garage, is it 76 Broadway?"….blah, blah blah. I'm thinking: Why would you possibly need the address of the garage - IT’S DIRECTLY ACROSS THE STREET, WHAT MORE EXPLANATION DO YOU NEED!? Besides, I’ve already agreed to drive him to the airport, and since I’ll be with him, does it really matter that he needs to know how to get to the freakin’ garage?

We get to the garage, and DL says where are you parked? I say it’s valet and they bring the car to me. We stand there for no more than a minute (literally) and he says, “How long does it take for them to get the car?". I say, it’s pretty fast – no more than five minutes, even during rush hour. Another minute passes, he says under his breath, “They’re kind of slow." (Man, come on...I mean really, it really hasn’t been more than 2 – 2 ½ minutes since the valet went running to retrieve my car. It will only take us 20 minutes to get to the airport, and his flight was due to depart 2 1/2 hours from now.

My car finally shows up, and he asks if I’ve ever driven to the airport. Yes, I say, I’ve been a few times (don’t you remember the conversations we’ve had about what the best route to/from the airport is, and the trips I’ve said I’ve taken to/from NYC in the past few years?)

So, regardless of my answer, he commences to oversee my driving and directions to the airport. I tell him I have the coordinates already programmed into my GPS system (not to mention, as I said before, I already know how to get to the airport, but simply program the GPS to reassure him), but he just wants to be in control and gets a high out of showing off how much he thinks he knows.

So, all the way to the airport he just keeps jabbering on about what lane to be in, where the turn is coming up, traffic, traffic, traffic, bad signage, bad drivers - basically his opinion on all things transportation. And then because of all this distraction from the passenger’s seat, I nearly miss the last exit to the airport, and nearly get broadsided by a truck.

Next time, DL can take the subway as planned! And yes, I will be expensing the mileage!

And if he ever asks me if I drove to work today, I'll say no, I took the subway.