I work nights. The reason I work the night shift is because you get a little less work for a little more pay. For the most part that I get exactly that, and in moments when I’m feeling more appreciative than normal I might actually thank the good lord for such minor blessings. It’s death on your career though, the night shift gets no attention and doesn’t beg for any either. But that’s another entry for another blog.
So I’m driving home like I normally do, listening to some random classical music the public radio station has chosen for me. Sometimes I don’t go for classical music on the drive home simply because it can be sleep inducing if I’m not careful, but generally, it relaxes my mind without being distracting. I pull into my driveway and decide I was going to secretly smoke one of the cigarettes I’ve been stashing at the job. I notice Radiohead’s Kid A cd in the passenger seat next to me and pop it in as ‘mood music’.
Perfect music if you want to add a dreamlike quality to accompany clandestine smoke sessions in your own driveway. I commit a slow suicide with each inhalation of tobacco and the assorted carcinogens that accompany my cigarette smoke. I exhale and think random thoughts like ‘I wonder if the neighbors dog knows what brand of cigarettes I smoke based on the smell?’, you know, heavy stuff.
I glance at the ground, notice my shoes and a dull glow coming from under the minivan. It’s odd, the fog lights appear to be on. I unlock the minivan and go to turn off the headlights, and the door starts ringing like my keys are in the ignition. The lights aren’t on and I close the door and scratch my head. I take pull one last drag before I go in the house and then the headlights light up. Ten seconds later they turn off, and I realize then that my minivan is possessed.