The windows of her car were the walls of her cage and she wanted to scrabble her nails against the glass until someone noticed her and picked her up out of that cage to take her to a new home. Of course performing that action in the middle of rush hour traffic in L.A. would probably lead to that new home being some kind of psychiatric ward. And after all she was in traffic because of homes. Apartment hunting should be the third quadrant of the fourth ring of hell and all the girls who were mean to her in middle school should wander it with bad credit and a history of angry landlords.
Andy sighed and slowly banged her head against the steering wheel. People warned her about L.A. traffic, was the job worth it? What if she got fired within the first two weeks? What if there was a roach invasion? Or her room was next to a horrible opera singer? What if aliens attacked while she was stuck on a freeway? She had to stop feeling stuck in an aluminum coffin and left to roast under the faulty broiler of the world. She rolled down all of her windows in the hope that there would be some air.
To her left, two girls took it a step further and opened their car doors. Andy shaded her eyes against the glare and watched as one of them hopped up onto the hood of their blue Scion.
“Welcome to Traffic Tunes and Variety – by Girls In Toasters. Hit it!”
Andy was impressed, clearly the girl had some theatre training, or was really used to commanding younger siblings in family war games.
I let it fall, my heart/ and as it fell, you rose to claim it…
The dark haired girl held a spatula as a microphone and belted Set Fire to the Rain. She danced, played it up, and generally looked like she was having the time of her life performing to the stalled cars on a massive freeway. Her friend emerged half way through and improvised a truly great air guitar. Andy envied them.
Let it Burn!
The dark haired girl took a bow. “Okay people, it is hot, the freeway is a parking lot, and you know what that means?”
A few people who had rolled their windows down shouted various answers. Time to get a watch! Hammer time! Adventure Time! The Apocalypse!
“Whoever guessed Hammer Time is close, but that is not on our iPod.” She struck a disco pose. “It is time to DANCE!” Dropped her disco arm in an inviting sweep. “Join us!”
As entirely dancible strains of Lady Gaga emerged from the speakers, a few of the other cars decided, what the hell, and got out to dance. Andy sat in her car and wondered if strange people in Scions were the equivalent of helpful people taking puppies to psych wards. When the next song in the dance mix was Pink’s Raise Your Glass, Andy ditched whatever remained of her brain and joined the impromptu highway dance party.
Which was great until the traffic copters showed up. The traffic copters lead to more media attention, which led to police officers, which led to one last roaring rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody before everyone got back into their cars, traffic started moving again, and it took Andy a good five minutes to remember where the heck she was going.
Andy walked out of her new apartment to begin the wonderful process of unpacking, when a rather memorable blue Scion with a dark haired girl and her blond friend parked right next to her little Honda. Apparently L.A. was going to be a great place to live.
“Hey,” Andy said. She leaned on the hood of her car. “You two live here?”
“We moved in last week,” the dark haired girl said. The blonde was looking at Andy suspiciously. “You too?”
“The car full of stuff gave it away, huh?” Andy smiled. “I’m Andy, and I owe both of you a ton for keeping me from a total meltdown on the interstate last week. After I get this stuff moved in, I shall order pizza, and pay you back.”
The other women looked at each other. “If we help her move in we can snoop through her stuff,” the blonde pointed out.
“If you bring your iPod and a set of speakers, you can snoop all you want.”
“Done,” the dark haired one said. “We’re Sam and Fred.”
“Sam I can get. Fred?” Andy tilted her head.
“Don’t ask,” Sam said quickly. “Your name short for something?”
“So are ours.”
Sam glanced at Fred who was attempting to open Andy’s passenger door, and shrugged. “I’ll get the iPod.”
Andy unlocked the door. Maybe scrabbling against her car windows would not have gone as poorly as she’d thought.