creative fundraising

A group of literary agents decided to take over a struggling elementary school and turn it into a graphic design firm. Things weren't going so well---the kids just weren't producing creative enough work to justify their mission statement of unprecedented creative innovation. And public school just don't get enough funding these days. So they decided to take me hostage and set a price on my head to fund their budget for going after new clients. Things were looking pretty grim. Turns out the government doesn't negotiate with graphic designers. But then I got a phone call from my mother, who informed me she had worked out a deal with the agent teacher designer terrorists to pay off my ransom in monthly installments, like a mortgage. My mom is the best.

republicans make horrible backseat drivers.

My mom and I were trying to take the subway back to my apartment, but the roof of the platform was leaking steadily no matter where we tried to stand. I was convinced it was acid rain, but before I could get too freaked out our train arrived. At least, it was supposed to be the F train, but the flashing screen on the side said it was the B6 bus. Close enough.

I found a couple of seats for me and my mom, but a young, well-dressed woman with a perfect ponytail and a pearl necklace shoved onto the train in front of my mom and sat down next to me. I said, "Excuse me, but my mother was going to sit there." The women said, "Oh," and didn't move. Luckily there were two more seats on the other side of her, so I just got up and sat down next to my mom. "Thanks for nothing," I said, against my better judgment. The woman proceeded to shriek at me for being a rude bitch for the rest of the ride.

At some point the train/bus morped into a shared car that I was driving. My mom was in the back seat and the horrible woman was sitting up front next to me. She criticized my driving constantly, from not taking a tight enough right turn to not using my turn signal early enough. My mom and I tried to figure out the best route home. The woman interrupted us, saying, "But I'm not going to your house. You have to drop me off at work." I asked her where she worked, and she said, "I work for the Glenn Beck show. That's G-L-E-N-N-" I cut her off and told her I knew who Glenn Beck was.

I was trying not to let her get under my skin, but the road signs were really confusing and I was worried about getting lost. When I tried to get onto a highway ramp that she disapproved of, I accidentally turned onto someone's driveway. She smirked through all the three-point turns I had to make to get us back out. And then she was gone. I'm pretty sure my mom shoved her out of the moving car when I wasn't looking.