Five Reasons

CHAPTER ONE

There were five good reasons why Joshua Chambers was intent on running the red light at the end of the Laurel Canyon offramp.  First and most pressing was the fact that his bladder was particularly full this evening.  

Normally, Josh wasn’t a fan of coffee (his system prone to fits of caffeine drunkenness).  His coffee break was merely a reminder that it was 2:30, a benchmark to hit on the way from 9 to 5.  Today, however, he actually needed the jolt of energy. 

His agency’s main client, Sombrero Corn Chips, wanted a new presentation by the next morning.  They were marketing a new type of corn chip to consumers, “This time, with the built in taste of guacamole.”  They weren’t particularly wild about the current slogan/result of the previous 2am brainstorming session, “Holy Mole!”  Works fine when said aloud, but it doesn’t translate well to print, resulting in a sacred weasel.  

Creative was throwing everything at the wall, so caffeine was needed both to come up with terrible puns and to make them seem halfway viable.  There comes a point in your coffee craze where you stop counting the cups.  Around that time, Josh came up with the image of a matador screaming, “Guacam-Olé!”  The problem here being that Americans aren’t quite sure how to process the accent mark.

Attempting to stay hydrated (something he read in a men’s magazine a few months ago), Josh drank a glass of water for every cup of coffee.  The result was alternating energy, discomfort, and incredible focus.  The hyperactivity made him keenly aware of just how buzzed he was in some sort of jittery Möbius strip.

After ten and a half hours of slogans and marketing and puns (of both the bad and the worse varieties), Joshua just had to get the hell out of that office, even if it meant skipping a final proofreading session and a trip to the men’s room.  “Guacam-Olé” moved into first position as Josh jumped in his car for an estimated thirty-minute trip down the 405 and 101 freeways. 

And that thirty-minute commute turned into an hour and fifteen (so far).  Joshua lived only a few blocks from the offramp.  Having preemptively unbuttoned his pants, he was more than intent on running in, dropping his bag and his trousers, and making the mad dash to the nearest receptacle.

Reason number two: the driver behind him was being a true jackass, having tailgated for the past seven miles.  By sheer coincidence or some cosmic practical joke, the ’06 Mustang (Shocker that someone in that automobile would have anger management issues) had somehow followed him from the 10 to the 405 and now to the 101.  Considering his mood, Josh was shocked that he hadn’t gotten into an accident on this drive home. 

Joshua would speed up to appease, then the car would get back on his tail.  Mr. Mustang would throw his hands to the air, indignantly signing, “Why won’t you let me pass?!?”  Josh would then change lanes and watch as the Mustang sped off.  Two minutes later, guess who would be tailgating him again?  Despite his evasive maneuvers, Josh couldn’t shake him like he was Biggs Darklighter.  And who was now getting off at Laurel Canyon as well?

If Josh had to stay on the offramp, the other driver would probably pull up beside him, furiously verbalizing his displeasure.  A verbal exchange would ensue.  Hell, the other guy might be a maniac with murderous intent.  Josh could easily become a teaser for the night o’clock news.  “How one Southland man went from being a cautious driver to a corpse.  All that and your weekend weather.  Details at 11.”

#3 - There was a homeless man standing at the end of the ramp, holding a sign that read “PLEASE HELP.”  Not a “God Loves You” or a “Willing to Work” sentiment.  Not a humorously honest “Need money for booze.”  Just “PLEASE HELP.”

This simple call for help made Josh remember that everyone was once a baby and had so much potential.  This poor man was once held in his mother’s arms.  He used to be a baby.  Made him sad that he was complaining about an avocado deadline when there were true problems out there. 

The less time he spent stewing with liberal guilt, the better.  And being stuck at that light would give him another minute or two of self-hatred.

Reason number four: Josh would gladly throw a couple bucks into the 7-11 cup, however he only had a hundred dollar bill in his pocket and wasn’t about to do that.  That would be absurd.

Without looking in his wallet (that would just be dangerous while driving), he knew for a fact that he had no small bills on him.  Two nights ago, Josh went out with some guys from the office.  This was an invite he rarely got, but working late hours on the corn chip account prompted some bonding. 

When he entered the bar, Josh had two twenties in his wallet.  Having been invited into the inner circle, he felt obliged to pay for the first round.  At this sort of establishment, three drinks totaled $31.  He got back nine singles.  Josh always hated how bartenders do that.  Guilting you into throwing them back on the counter.  Might as well give you Sacagawea dollars. 

He left two for a tip then went to the jukebox.  Shockingly you only got three songs for five dollars.  Josh selected the three Smiths songs in the library and made his way back to the makeshift Three Musketeers of Advertising.  And even with the soothing sound of Morrissey (which took about an hour and a half to finally queue up). Josh was still out of place.  Much like “The Boy With the Thorn in His Side” being sandwiched between Rhianna and Ke$ha, Josh just didn’t belong here.

He left the bar sometime around midnight, throwing the remaining four dollars to a homeless guy outside the bar. 

So, as his car approached the offramp, Josh was left with only his emergency hundred, and that was staying put in his wallet.  Typically Josh had a granola bar in the car that he would hand to the homeless, but he had eaten it one night after working through dinner on the Bone-Dri Deodorant account. 

Joshua didn’t want to sit idling in his car, keeping his eyes forward and away from the homeless, doing the fake “If I don’t see you, I don’t have to respond to you” passive aggression popular amongst L.A. drivers.  Keep your sunglasses on, eyes forward and hands upon the wheel.  Avoiding the Homeless would be preferable to making eye contact and saying “Sorry.”

And this led to reason number five: It had been a long day and he just wanted to get home.  Wheel and Jeopardy should have recorded, which would make for good dinnertime television.  He was rushing so he could relax, a paradox that would normally bother him if he weren’t focused on the stress on his bladder.

Josh was just tired of being on the freeway.  He was tired of guacamole puns.  He was tired of being alone in this sedan.  Didn’t matter what day it was.  Didn’t matter what had gone on at the office.  Didn’t matter if the asshole in the Mustang was still honking his horn (even when coming to a stop on an offramp).  Sometimes you just want to be home.

So with a full bladder, an empty wallet and an urge to sit on the sofa and watch Wheel of Fortune, Josh made the conscious decision that no matter what color the light, he was going to hit the gas pedal and make it through.

With the yellow light slowly dying out and being replaced by red, Joshua Chambers made a left turn onto Laurel Canyon, speeding away from the jackass in the Mustang, past the homeless man, and through the intersection. 

And collided with Mary Alfredsson. 

END OF PART ONE