Almost 800 lines of SQL code in a day and it occurs to me that I need more punk CD's to continue. I get up and walk out the office door without a word to a group discussing the weekend carwashes as means to finance a second product line. They all turned around at once and someone said, "Hey Kelly, where you going?" I say, "Gotta have some punk," and don't turn around or break stride. Into the elevator, I jam on the L button and it lights up with an "Oi." Into the parking lot, I was almost hit by a Volkswagon Beetle
with a Barry Manilow
sticker. The guy rolls down the window takes the flower from his dash mounted vase and yells, "Punk is dead!" All I thought was, I must get some Lagwagon
. But most of all, I need some Operation Ivy
. Into the car, I race through the parking deck with the engine screaming and the car door barely closed. A lady in an Olds 88 tries to back out in front of me, but I fly passed her in the empty parking spots barely missing a Hyundai
with an American flag sticker. Into the street, I slide sideways and clip a fire hydrant with my back bumper. A spout of water erupts and forces two pedestrians to run to protect their polyester shirts. Halfway there a school bus passes me with at least 30 kids singing the Sex Pistols
; the back of the bus has a circled-A
spray painted on it. I try my best to catch up to it, but they are doing at least 90 and a plume of jet black smoke erupts from the tail pipe when it tries to pass a 1980's Camaro on the shoulder. The school bus sputters to a stop and 30 kids with safety-pin decorated clothes, jack boots, and multi-colored hair begin to fall from the windows. I stand up on the brakes and slide into the bushes in front of the bus. A Bellsouth utility truck tries his best to respond but runs into me; his ladder is propelled off the roof and into the east-bound lane of I-285. Ten of the punk rock kids pile into my car head first and we are off again, with legs and arms still hanging out of the windows. I merge the car back into traffic and the back end is so heavy that the car takes to three wheels, and doesn't dare slide. Through two redlights, the sparks fly behinds us just like in the movies. Into the parking lot of the music store and right up on the curb, we are all out and running through the door just as D.R.I.
's "I Don't Need Society" explodes over the in-store stereo system. I grab a pair of headphones from a listening station and wear them around while I look for CD's. With my selections made and the CD's purchased, things start to calm down; I get back in my car, drive back to work, and write another 200 lines of SQL code.