But these weren't just any speed bumps. These were evil, soul sucking speed bumps. They were narrow and tall and might as well have had nails sticking right out of them. There was a speed bump at EVERY turn. And two speed bumps in every aisle. To get to the next level of parking I had to go over ten speed bumps. And I usually park on the fifth floor. That's fifty speed bumps. FIFTY SPEED BUMPS. Is that really necessary??
Instead of forcing me to drive more safely, by the fiftieth speed bump I was contemplating all sorts of dangerous methods to avoid the speed bumps. Like driving around them if no one was parked in the area. This requires skill and maneuvering that no one in this office was trained for, but we will all do it. Because we'd rather take twice as long driving in an S formation around the speed bumps than going over the speed bumps directly. I also contemplated taking a bus to work. Or parachuting in. Or moving to a small island where speed bumps don't exist.
Every day I had to go over all of those speed bumps, I started to go a little bit crazy. At first I would joke to myself and do dance moves as my car rocked back and forth. I'd commiserate with my co-workers. We'd all talk about how the "powers that be" were going to remove the speed bumps as soon as they realized they were too much for anyone to deal with. Then we remembered that the "powers that be" all park on the first floor.
Soon after this realization, I started to dread facing the speed bumps. They were a sign that we had all done something wrong. What did we do to deserve this? Was it crazy Larry driving recklessly in his giant pick up truck with tires so large that when he ran over my foot I didn't feel a thing? What did it all mean?
Was this a metaphor for my LIFE??
Soon each speed bump felt like every failure I'd ever had. Taunting me. Oh you want to move forward hmmmm? First you must be jostled and jolted and prodded FIFTY TIMES before you get where you want to be. And even then you'll get the WORST parking space.
I saw others trudge from their cars into work after having faced the same demons. No one spoke about the speed bumps anymore. It was too painful.
After facing my failures for many days, I got angry. I decided I was just going to plow through them. I talked to my car and told her we were in this together. I cackled manically as I tried to run over the speed bumps as quickly as possible. Which, due to the extreme effectiveness of the speed bumps, got me nowhere any faster. I started to look for signs of weakness in the speed bumps. I would kick every one I walked by. Just in case. I hurt my foot. They had no weaknesses. No one could destroy them.
Finally, I gave up. I resigned myself to the fact that these speed bumps were going to be here whether I liked it or not, so I was just going to have to deal with them as best I could in order to move forward.
So, every day before I enter the parking garage, I turn up Club Can't Even Handle Me by Flo Rida and bump that shit over every speed bump like a freaking bad ass and enjoy the ride.