You arrive at a crappy truck stop in the middle of nowhere, Arizona. And there have been at least three different brands of farts wafting around in your car for the past hour, not to mention foot smell and Funyun breath. And you open the door to gasp for fresh air. But instead you inhale hot asphalt, and despair, and heat, heat, heat. And you just want three minutes alone in the bathroom without one of your kids asking for the hundredth time whether they can have their screens yet. But instead, you must shepherd your two stir crazy boys in and out of there while ensuring that they touch absolutely nothing. Then it occurs to you that you could take them out to their mother once they’re done and then go back in yourself for a few moments of precious peace. And you do, and it works wothout a hitch! Or so you think.
While you are in the bathroom, unbeknownst to you, your five-year-old is gleefully pressing random buttons in your car. One of the several buttons he presses deletes the Bluetooth connection to your phone. But you will not discover this fact until you are traveling at 80 mph on the freeway, and your music won’t play, and your daughter tells you the likely reason. For safety, the car won’t allow you to modify the Bluetooth while driving. So you have to pull over, which pisses you off. And you’re on the side of the highway with your flashers on, but you can’t get the damn thing to connect. And you vaguely remember that deactivating the Bluetooth connection isn’t a big deal, but restoring it after it’s been deleted altogether is a more complicated pain in the ass. And you kind of lose your shit, because you can’t get it to work. And you’re barking at your son while flipping through the owner’s manual, trying to figure out how to fix this problem he caused. But in your agitated state, the index makes no sense, and seems to refer you to other index topics that refer you back to where you started. And you give up in frustration. Great! Now you’ll have no music, or podcasts, or audiobooks, or fucking anything but furious silence for the rest of this goddamn trip!
You pull back onto the freeway. And everyone is quietly uncomfortable because you’ve acted like a total asshole. A few minutes later, you’ve calmed down. And you’re apologizing to your son for losing your temper, while also lecturing him about screwing with your car’s computer.
When you stop for dinner a couple hours later, a solution to the problem has occurred to you. And with a clear head you try it, and it works, and the Bluetooth connection is restored. Seeing this, your children cheer – but they cheer entirely too loudly. Indeed, it’s less of a cheer and more of an ear-splitting, banshee shriek. And you’re immediately angry again because Jesus! What have we said about inside voices?!
And as you pull out of the parking lot, your wife is chuckling at you. And what the Hell is so funny? Does she want a piece of this? Cuz you got plenty to spare.
Not phased, she chides you about how you’ve found another reason to be angry even though your original problem has been solved. You push back, because these kids can’t act like that. I mean, that noise was deafening. But she’s having none of it, and points out that they were happy for you, and says “Sometimes joy hurts.”
Her words linger with you. And you keep replaying them in your mind as you drive into the desert sunset, a smile on your face.