Labor Day Not-So-Fun

I wanted to write this in a separate post because 99 percent of Labor Day weekend was awesome. I loved being a part of some Seattleites’ special events and helping make their celebrations memorable.

BUT… now I need to address the one percent that is decidedly not awesome.

Rarely do I leave the garage without some impromptu interaction taking place, and that’s fine. Hearses are weird, and the Barbie Dream Hearse is really weird. So if I’m out and about, I expect some questions, picture-taking, and gaping-maw gawking. You can’t run around screaming, “Look at me!” and then expect everyone to leave you alone when you want them to (ahem, Kim Karda$hian).

That said, I don’t particularly love when people interrupt me while I’m helping customers, but I understand this is a common problem with any public-facing job. As a former sales associate, bank teller, ice cream scooper, and yes, even sandwich artist, I know interruptions are going to happen and patience is always the best policy.

However, some rubbernecking activities are just plain wrong and unsafe. If I’m going 50 mph on I-90 in the middle of the night, don’t sidle up next to me with a camera pressed against your passenger side window and a flash going off. And when you realize the picture is going to be blurry and unrecognizable (because we’re on the fucking highway at nighttime), don’t hang back and get cozy in my blind spot, shining your headlights in my rear view mirror for five miles. When I slow down further to pull over and get away from your nonsense, don’t keep pace with me, causing everyone behind you to slam on their brakes even though they have a reasonable expectation to go the speed limit in the middle lane!

Yeah, it’s not the end of the world, but I don’t want to be the indirect cause of an accident because someone can’t handle his own vehicle in the presence of an unconventional one. There’s a phone number and a website on the back of the hearse. You can find out more when you’re not in the middle of conducting a two-ton killing machine.

In our day of tiny attention spans, I realize it’s unlikely that the person who sparked this post is going to read this, or even remember that they saw a hearse last night. But if you do, know that you’re also the impetus for the new East Side tag. Congratulations on being another bridge-and-tunnel stereotype.