Destroy All Cars

by Blake Nelson

  When I finally got home, dinner was almost ready. I ran upstairs really fast to check if Sadie had designated herself as single on her Facebook page. She had. Wow. That was interesting. She had a bunch of new friends, too. Twenty or so, since I last looked. Some of these were older activist types. People she met doing her bike path project. A lot of them were guys, I noticed. Had she gone out with any of them? What if she’d had sex with one of them?

  Yikes.

  That was the other big thing about Sadie and me—we never had sex. I always pretend that I wanted to and she didn’t, but that’s not really true. Gabe says she would have, if I’d made a big deal about it. We were just too young, really. We were sophomores. We were clueless.

  Downstairs, my mother kept yelling for me to come to dinner. My dad finally came up and knocked on the door. I was to come now and eat “with the family.” I was like, okay, okay, and I went downstairs and sat there and ate “with the family.” Like that means anything.

  Fortunately, Libby talked the whole time about some girl at her school who had a rash. I mentioned that I had met another freshman girl who had a rash. Thus I participated in the conversation “with the family.”

  After dinner I still felt restless and weird. I tried a little Spanish homework but that was not happening. So I hopped on my bike and rode down to Shari’s, the local 24-hour restaurant, and drank a bunch of coffee and wrote a bunch of crap in my notebook.

  But that didn’t help. When I rode back, it was misting and cold and not the best bike-riding weather. Back home, I went online again and checked Sadie’s page to see if she’d added anything new in the last three hours. She hadn’t. She obviously has better things to do than waste time on the internet…unlike me, who spent an hour and a half doing this:

  THE ONE TRUE YOU—A Survey

  Name:

  James Hoff

  Age:

  17

  Birthplace:

  Portland, Oregon

  Current Location:

  Upstairs, in bedroom, at computer, 11:52 p.m.

  High School:

  Evergreen High School: Home of The Fighting Owls! (?)

  Eye Color:

  Black (from seeing the future)

  Hair Lung Color:

  Black (from breathing the air of the future)

  Height:

  5′11″

  Right Handed or Left Handed:

  Right

  Your Heritage:

  CONSUMER AMERICAN

  The Shoes You Wore Today:

  White deck shoes. I love them. They are the only thing I love.

  Your Weakness:

  Robots, girls, girl robots.

  Your Fears:

  That dumb people are happier than I am; that clueless people have more fun.

  Your Perfect Pizza:

  Canadian bacon with pineapple

  Goals You Would Like To Achieve This Year:

  1) Overthrow petroleum-based world economic order;

  2) Have sex

  Your Most Overused Phrase On an Instant Messenger:

  WTF

  Thoughts First Waking Up:

  How much longer will our travesty of a civilization last?

  Your Best Physical Feature:

  Pointing finger.

  Your Bedtime:

  When I can’t take it anymore.

  Your Most Missed Memory:

  Being so young I did not understand what was happening to the world.

  Pepsi or Coke:

  Is that a choice?

  McDonald’s or Burger King:

  For what? Killing yourself?

  Lipton Iced Tea or Nestea:

  You’re joking.

  Chocolate or Vanilla:

  Shut up.

  Tea or Coffee:

  Nobody cares!

  Do you Smoke:

  I don’t but I might as well.

  Do you Sing:

  I scream pretty damn good.

  Do you Shower Daily:

  I scrub the sickness of my species off myself every day. It always comes back.

  Have you been in Love:

  It took you long enough. Yes, I have been in love. Now ask me some questions about it. And how about some questions about sex?

  Do you want to go to College:

  I thought these quizzes were supposed to be about sex? And dating. And girls. I want to answer questions about my love life and if I like long walks on the beach and what my favorite color is. Then I want you to calculate my “score” or my “type” and tell me what kind of girl I should be with and preferably arrange a meeting with her so that I don’t have to leave my room. Also some pictures of that (or any) girl in various states of undress would be nice.

  Do you want to get Married:

  Married? I haven’t even got laid yet! What is your problem? These tests are supposed to be fun! It said right on the top: “For amusement purposes only.”

  Do you believe in yourself:

  That is the only thing I believe in.

  Do you think you are Attractive:

  I am a certain type. If you like that type, you’ll like me.

  Are you a Health Freak:

  In a way.

  Do you get along with your Parents:

  I do not waste my time fighting with my parents, who are typical CONSUMER AMERICANS. They don’t understand me, anyway. I never ask for the car. I never ask for money. What’s wrong with me? I wear old clothes that I buy myself. I must be mentally ill. That’s how my parents think, all right? They are not worth talking about, and they are definitely not worth fighting with. What would be the point?

  Do you like Thunderstorms:

  Yes! And there are going to be a lot of them in the future, so I am in luck! There will also be more hurricanes, tornadoes, heat waves, and other “unusual” weather patterns because we’re filling the atmosphere full of ungodly chemicals. “Gee,” we say as we sit in our CO2-spewing SUVs, “what’s up with the weird weather?”

  Do you play an Instrument:

  Only when I consume certain gaseous combustibles.

  In the past month have you Drunk Alcohol:

  Bud Light, (burp) every chance I git.

  In the past month have you Smoked:

  Marlboro Reds, (cough) ever chance I git.

  In the past month have you been on Drugs:

  Spark a bowl (cough cough hacking cough) every chance I git.

  In the past month have you gone on a Date:

  With my hand! Har har har!

  In the past month have you eaten a box of Oreos:

  Oreos are irrelevant to everything that I stand for. But I like them. And I consume them on occasion.

  In the past month have you eaten Sushi:

  Sushi is from Japan. The important thing to know about Japan is that their robot technology is far advanced over ours. This is a national disgrace. When it is 200 degrees on the face of the earth and all the people are dead, the Japanese robots will be sipping iced drinks in their shady palaces while our feeble American robots fan them with palm leaves.

  What is your favorite TV Show:

  Nova, Discovery Channel, anything with robots in it.

  What is your Favorite Band:

  Ima Robot

  What is your Favorite Movie:

  I, Robot

  What is your Favorite Book:

  The Robot Manifesto

  In the past month have you been Dumped:

  Depends on what you mean by dumped. Do you mean emotionally devastated by the sudden withdrawal of love by someone you totally trust and depend on? Do you mean sent into a death spiral of mental anguish by your soulmate tearing herself away from you without warning? Do you mean your whole world collapsing all around you, to the point where you don’t care if you’re alive or dead? No, I have not been dumped.

  In the past month have you gone Skinny Dipping:

  I denounce lame attempts at “rebellion” that serve only to maintain the current system. Why? Is somebody going?

&
nbsp; In the past month have you Stolen Anything:

  Stealing implies possession. I denounce possession. However, I have on occasion moved certain objects from one place to another.

  Ever been Drunk?

  The only people in America who haven’t been drunk are people who don’t own television sets. To these people I say: Go to the store, buy a TV, turn it on. Observe how the people in Bud Light commercials act. Now imitate these people: Dress like a “slacker,” drive your humorously feeble vehicle to a convenience store, buy some Bud Light, and drink it. Notice that sickening feeling in your stomach? Feel that wooziness in your head? That is drunkenness. You are now drunk.

  Ever been called a Tease:

  What?

  Ever been Beaten Up:

  Yes. I considered it an honor.

  Ever Shoplifted:

  Why would I have to shoplift? My parents are CONSUMER AMERICANS. They bring home carloads of useless crap every day.

  How do you want to Die:

  From natural causes. Not because of other people’s greed and stupidity.

  What do you want to be when you Grow Up:

  Alive.

  Number of Drugs I have taken:

  72 aspirin, 37 Tylenol, 48 Advil (to ease the pain)

  Number of CDs I own:

  76, not counting Bob Dylan’s “Masterworks,” which my dad insisted on buying me for Christmas. Thanks, Dad.

  Number of things in my Past I Regret:

  One. Falling in love with Sadie Kinnell. But no. I don’t regret it.

  No, I don’t regret my time with Sadie. To be honest, it was probably the best thing that ever happened to me.

  The problem is what’s happened after. In the last nine months my life has gone pretty much straight downhill. I don’t even feel like myself anymore. I go to school. I eat lunch. I feel like I’m watching everything through glass. When I try to talk to other girls, I’m having a whole other conversation with myself at the same time. Talking is a waste, anyway. No one actually hears what you say. They just start talking themselves, saying irrelevant, pointless things that I already know or don’t need to know. And then I get pissed off when I don’t have anything to do on Friday night. The only time I can make sense of anything is when I write it down. But you can’t show up at keg parties with a laptop.

  It’s so weird that Sadie’s single again, that she’s out there again. I can feel this tingle in the air, like she’s right there, like she might be sitting in her room typing something at this exact moment, or lying in her bed, or downstairs having warm milk in her kitchen.

  I can feel her presence. I can see her perfectly in my mind. Sadie. She is out there. And she is free.

  February 17

  Went downtown yesterday to the Central Library so I could get some Russian stuff for my World History class. I gathered an armload of books and camped out in the main reading room.

  Then, coincidence of coincidences, who walks in? Sadie Kinnell. At first I thought she was with Will because I thought I heard his annoying dork voice, but it wasn’t him. She was by herself. I was at a back table, and she didn’t see me, so I slid down in my chair and hid behind The Bolshevik Revolution: A Pictorial Account.

  Sadie and I used to hang out at the downtown library a lot. It was one of our favorite things to do when we first started going out. We’d sit around talking and not doing our homework. Then we’d get coffees across the street at Café Artiste and talk more. She was big into animal rights then. I was into existentialism, The Stranger, anything involving cool French dudes with slicked-back hair and cigarettes.

  Anyway, so there I am, hiding behind The Bolshevik Revolution and sneaking looks across the room. Of course Sadie can’t quietly look something up on the computer. She has to go right up to the reference person and announce herself. The library information guy stares up at her with his thick glasses. Sadie is a people person. Why get it done in half the time on the computer when you can interact with a fellow human and impress him with your earnest caring, plus maybe someday he will vote for you when you run for president? Sadie used to say there was something special and important about every person on the earth. I was like, yeah, they are all taking the place of a salmon or a bear or one of the other animals we have driven to extinction.

  Sadie and thick glasses guy start chatting and researching and bonding. Everyone bonds with Sadie Kinnell. When he’s done everything one human can possibly do for another, she thanks him sincerely and goes upstairs to continue her search. I watch her go. Meanwhile, thick glasses guy goes back to his desk, all smiles. He’s totally in love with her. It can happen that quick.

  I sit there, watching all of this, slunk down in my chair, gazing over the top of my book. The room is still electric with the presence of Sadie, even after she’s gone. I look at the clock. I look at my stuff. What should I do? Go find her? Sit here? Pretend I don’t know she’s somewhere above me, in the same building I’m in?

  Before I can stop myself, I get up and grab my coat and backpack. I’m going upstairs to see what she’s doing. Maybe I’ll pretend I’m looking for something myself. Or maybe I’ll spy on her. Or maybe I’ll hide in the bathroom.

  I sneak up the stairs, creeping slowly, watching above me. When I make it to the second floor, I stash my stuff in the Art and Music Room and peek across the hallway at the Social Sciences and Government Room, where I’m sure she is. I think for a second. What am I doing exactly? I’m not sure. I screw up my courage and go for it anyway. I tiptoe across the hall.

  The periodical shelf is by the door, so I go there first. I grab a copy of Psychology Today. I open it and pretend to read. I scan the room. I don’t see Sadie. But I listen for a minute and I hear her in the bookshelves. She’s mumbling to herself like she does sometimes. “B…B…here we go…B…B-E…B-E-A…okay, that’s it…Charles Beatty…Douglas Beatty…” It sort of kills me how she does things like that. Cute, weird things. She really was the perfect girl for me. At least on a cuteness/ weirdness level.

  I listen and figure out exactly where she is. I think about sneaking up behind her, maybe surprising her somehow, or shushing her, or something funny like that. But would that be funny? Or creepy? She isn’t my girlfriend anymore. We aren’t, technically, even friends.

  I decide to bail. It’s a terrible feeling. To be that close to someone and then realize you have no access. You are not in her life. Not at all. I put Psychology Today back and duck out of the room. I run back to Art and Music, where I hide behind some Elton John CDs.

  James Hoff

  Junior AP English

  Mr. Cogweiller

  ASSIGNMENT: personal reflection on a place or location

  REFLECTIONS ON THE MALL

  I love the rumor that the air in malls is oxygen enriched to make you stupid and make you buy stuff. Why are you there if you’re not stupid and going to buy stuff?

  I love watching people at the mall. Junior high girls shuffling around, chewing gum, flipping their hair, their cells stuck to the sides of their faces. Oh mah gawd! they say into their phones, as their pea-sized brains struggle to comprehend the food court.

  Then the boys, in their camo cargo shorts, Old Navy tees, backward baseball caps. Checking out the girls. Checking out the new PlayStation. Checking out the Spicy Chicken Wraps at California Kitchen. They have curly blond locks, pucca shell necklaces. Remarkably, they are still wearing shorts and Vans slip-ons, in February. Why not? It is a controlled environment here at the mall. The temperature is our bitch, bitch.

  And the moms, overloaded with shopping bags and babies and other burdens. Despite their armloads of crap, they buy still more crap: Bed, Bath & Beyond crap. Crate & Barrel crap. Pottery Barn crap. Then a quick stop at Starbucks, or Ben & Jerry’s for a shot of sugar to keep them going (buying).

  Dads, too, sometimes appear at the mall, though they always look a little lost, surrounded by non-environment-destroying knickknacks. Maybe there’s something useful for Dad down at Sears. There must be some sort of
gas-powered machinery there. Maybe something to poison the lawn. Or amputate tree limbs. Or exterminate mice and other small animals who dare to co-exist in our living spaces.

  People do what they are programmed to do. People are button-pushing robots.

  Their alarm clocks wake them up. They push a button to shut them off. They go into their bathrooms and crap and piss. They push a button to eliminate their waste. They enter their kitchens groggy and hungry. They push buttons and food and caffeine products appear.

  They enter their garage areas and insert themselves into their vehicles. They push buttons to adjust the interior climate, the comfort level of their seats, the angle of the steering wheel. Then they start the car and push a button to open the garage door. On the street, they push a button on their GPS unit and it tells them where to go. Take the next left.

  At the mall they push a button and enter the automated parking garage. There they leave their vehicles and, if they are unlucky, HAVE TO EXPOSE THEMSELVES TO NATURE FOR A FEW SECONDS, until they are safely inside Nordstrom. They proceed, quickly pushing buttons on their communication devices and attaching them to the sides of their faces so they can communicate with other button-pushing robots.

  The button-pushing robots then proceed through the oxygen-enriched air, which refuels them and primes them for their primary purpose: buying useless crap. They proceed fully loaded with credit cards, debit cards, Mileage-Plus cards. They go into the stores. They evaluate the selections. What shall they buy today? Useless gadgets? Ugly shirts? Something made of plastic? They move silently across the polished marble floors. They shuffle. They consume. They touch base. Then they return to their vehicles.