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The Fable. Los Angeles, CA

34.13920° N, 118.20206° W

  December 27:

You have the green light and the speed limit is 35, but you still need to slow down for the big bump in the road.  I guess that’s the part of common sense which doesn’t get explicitly covered in the rules.  Something prior in experience gave rise to the creation of rules.  It’s normally learned through hard knocks.  Rules may guide, but are not in-themselves, the point.  There is still something that rules are meant to direct, to elicit, to protect. They are structural, valuable, and necessary for multiplayer, but they are yet dependents of experience.  They arise after living agents navigate through reality.  So speed limit be damned!  This storm. This pothole. This bump. says Slow down further.  

My bump in the road is an open bar, I think.  Just cause the rules say it is free; doesn’t mean I should go toe to toe with Dennis.  Dennis has a way of making cocktails drain like Kool-aid at a demented diabetes conference.  But this is no sugar fest, this is the summit for the driving devotional:  a gathering of secular thinkers who A. like to drink B.  like to socialize and C. have had a lot of thoughts from behind a windshield.  Oh, and also D. have nothing better to do. We’ve met up at a bar. The Fable, where they are happy to provide an open tab. Not quite the same thing as open bar, but much safer.

 “Driving is the great metaphor for life” is the bait that hooked this crowd to gather from the meetup website, organized by our curator Jake.  He is the speaker sporting a salt and pepper beard, green Georgio Aremani polo shirt, and broad legged, grey Stussy pants bearing socked ankles above canvas flats.  His limp, black baseball hat has muted rainbow paint splatters as adornment.  I wonder at how he could allow his mustache to grow so long over his upper lip, while simultaneously being unimaginative enough to be able to picture it otherwise.  He was the type of guy that would look really cool if not for his glasses. But, he doesn’t seem to care about his shitty frames.  Maybe that makes him a bit punk.  That and he has poached the devotional concept from the theists.

It is my turn to offer an insight, and I am already rattling off my third point. “Of course, we always see examples of drivers who are short-sided on the freeway.  They just don’t possess the foresight to reject their every opportunity to pass.  I am referring to those who employ what I like to call: unsustainable acceleration.  It’s when a car speeds up around you only to have to brake for traffic.  Like yeah, dipshit, I’m not going faster…cause it is rush hour!  Do you think I want to be going this speed?  There are other vehicles on the road!”  I feel the top of my head warm with passion as I recount this type of experience, thinking this would be good material for Scott Seiss to do a bit with.

Jake likes this one and adds:  “This is great.  We could have several entries surrounding this concept.  Around not taking every opportunity to go faster as if there is an emergency.  About there being a time to pass slow traffic and a time to stay the course in your own lane, especially when traffic is thick. About how one action such as not getting up in time can produce a domino effect”

Looking around, I can easily see why I am feeling so cozy in this place.  The Fable is an excellent place for a gathering.  It is a pub with warm medieval vibes inside, and an open air back patio option out back.  It’s on a lovely strip in Eagle Rock, despite the double lanes dividing the two sides.  The traffic noises disappear within, where there is much wood cladding and iron lanterns to admire.  Painted post and beams support shelves of bric-a-brac and oil paintings, and canvas screenprints adorn the walls.  A full bar offers libation while live music often sets up in the corner in the evenings.  Dennis seems to share the vibes as he whispers  “It is the shadowlands, like in middle earth….it even sound like it : Eagle rock.  Only it borders on the Valley while still being Los Angeles.”  I wonder which location is Mordor in his metaphor as the scent of Rum wafts past on the breeze of his breath. The bastard has been taking pirate shots, he’ll be taking an Uber later.

After a brief moment contemplating this, I lean back and whisper.

“Ever notice how the famous “valley girl accent” is much more prominent in small Midwest towns then it is here? In the actual valley slash valley adjacent?  

Also, native-born Korean girls who are fluent in American English often run with this dialect I’ve noticed from time abroad.”  

“Yieah” Dennis responded in perfect valley inflection.

“Anyone else like to offer an insight?” asks Jake to the group.

A woman speaks up “I’ve got something.  I’m Laura, I’m a foley artist, so I am always really sensitive to how things sound.  My neighbor had a dead battery and serenated us with his efforts to get it started.  There is nothing more hopeful sounding than a car starter directly after the engine finally tried to turn over for the first time.”

We philosophically nod to this, each of us retreating inward, trying to imagine the sound through the bustle of the common house. Dennis pulls me by my ear towards the door. He is in need of a nicotine fix.

Like all other bars, out front is the smoker’s place, though there is surprisingly an area out back, quite nice as well.  But Dennis takes the front door, it’s closer. While lighting up, Dennis chicken wing taps my attention and muffles “there’s one for you” through his bobbing Camel crush.  I turn to see a small Mazda SUV slowing to a stop light. The woman driver is sitting erect and staring forward, her ruffled floral sleeves matching the corner of her dress that had been shut outside the car door; the now dirty swath of fabric getting run mercilessly underneath her scope of consciousness.    

“That’s worse than driving with your gas cap open” he states, while I am contemplating all the parallel examples of the pious with dirty undercarriage,  of the good intentioned with ill consequences, of political add ons that get passed as concession to a campaign donor…

“gas cap…hmmm.  It’s like automotively leaving your fly down.  Do you roll your window down and tell them?” he continues.

  No one is in a position to point out the dress to the driver which is now accelerating away.  I wonder what occasion she is off too.  A grimy flag waves its silent surrender to the wind and disappears up over the hill.  Shit happens.  Step over it.

Back inside, the group is still going around in a brainstorming session to jumpstart ideas.  Nobody minds a little back-splashing of beer from a pitcher that is being delivered overhead to the table.  The errant droplets trigger upturned faces that beam into smiles and right-of way scooting’s as they welcome the humanitarian aid.  Robinson is talking about how driving in L.A. is a fantastic parenting lesson.  Which lesson is that?  The lesson that just because you see others do something, does not mean it is the right way…the safe way…the legal way to operate. 

 “Suppose that comes back to legality.  The Law” Duke says in a drawl as if he were narrating the opening for the Big Lebowski.  Duke is a dirty blond Canadian in a collared calico print shirt, a medley of powder blues.  He wears glasses, an orange beanie, and an agreeable disposition.  “What passes as acceptable motorized operation in Ho Chi Min or Busan even, does not conform to AAA’s standard of driving in North America.”

“I didn’t know the American Automobile Association worked in Canada” I helpfully interject.

“I’ve lived in L.A. for over 10 years.” He responds dryly before ramping back up “But yeah, they are partnered with CAA also” he laughs at his own nerd knowledge.  

“Canadian Automobile Association” I silently mouth across to Dukes neighbor who is looking back at me.

“Yes, well, it can get quite philosophical very quickly” says Jake cupping his hands together “and that’s the fun of it.” He continues, moving his eyes around the group judiciously. 

“You know, it just goes to show how alike we humans are” says a dark-haired gal with a name tag that reads “Steph” with a bubbly heart for an “E”. 

Jake overly tilts his head in attention towards her with a placid smile, the way moderators do in encouragement.  

“I recently asked Reddit what they keep in their side pocket on the driver door, you know the one originally meant for maps?  In 24 hours I had well over 3000 comments, and it was like a broken record.  Which shows you how these little idiosyncrasies we think are unique to us are often quite common.” She smiles and blinks.  There is a long pause through which she maintains her smile. Is she not going to tell us the responses?  

“I keep an umbrella there” says Dennis, briefly raising his hand for some reason.

“Exactly!” Says Steph, coming back to life.  “Umbrellas are one of the things most people keep there.  Gloves, sunglasses, scrapers are also common, or just plain old junk drawer.” I make a mental sigh of relief at the mention of this last one. “Tied with umbrellas, and surprising to me, people use that compartment as a literal trash can” She recalls “Oh, and all the Texans want me to know they keep a pistol there.”   She remembers something that raises her rollercoaster energy. Her eyes grow wide and voice intensifies dramatically “But the most surprising, reoccurring answer I received…was rocks.  People find cool rocks they like and put them there.”  Then she holds up a finger to contentedly utter “guilty”

“Drug addicts and their rocks more like it” Duke laughs deeply.

“Oh did have a few admit to that, some straight out” she interjects.  “But can we agree? If you are responding to an “ask reddit” thread with “wouldn’t you like to know”, it’s probably drugs.  And also lazy trolling.  yes I’d like to know, this is literally the place where I asked the question and now you are volunteering to respond. Ughhhh!”  she laughs it off and wipes her lap correcting her posture and smiles “Sorry” in a cheerful rock collecting voice.

I catch the pirate navigating his phone like he’s aboard a bobbing ship. It is time to go. Dennis suddenly looks up with a huge grin. “We’re not splitting a rideshare to get home” he announces in a thrilled voice. He’s got some cockamamie plan that I’ve learned to just wait for. “I’m calling you a Waymo right now, the self driving car, and I’m gonna have my Uber driver race you home! I was trailing a Waymo the other day, and it brought me back to my arcade days, like my whole childhood was training to race the CPU! so what do you think??”

I like it. “Call an Uber”

The Humanist devotional: wisdom delivered daily from experienced life, (driving addition!) could always use more entries. Share your thought provoking  entries or ideas in the comments below, and participate in the connection of all knowledge. BYOB.