This was supposed to be a blog about my fantastic pole dancing lesson. I love the intimate Ledura Heights studio. Menina is a great teacher. She remembers every girl’s name and gives useful tips. We got through at least 9 different spins in a little over an hour. Even if I am feeling intimidated by all these other more slender and flexible girls (genetics help), by the end of the class I feel feminine and confident (and a bit dizzy).
But the class was only the beginning of the adventure. Car trouble again raises its gnarly head. As I paused to talk to Menina after class, one of the girls rushes in. Her boyfriend left the lights on and her battery is dead. I offer to help as keep a set of jumpers buried beneath all my car crap. We try a jump start but can only achieve an unsettling clack-clack-clack-clack-clack sound from the dead engine. The car is abandoned for the night, and rather than have them wait for a taxi I give them a ride home. She is an Israeli personal trainer, so we have lovely conversation about her home and moving to the states. Yet after saying goodnight, I still need to make it back home. According to Forbes magazine, the 10-405 interstate intersection is already ranked as 5th worst in the nation. Tonight all the connecting ramps are closed, leading to a chaotic detour. As the exiting traffic slows, the car right behind is slammed into by a swerving black jeep. I only just escape the domino effect. Finally we are able to pull off the freeway. The jeep is nowhere to be seen, and the three girls who were hit are left trying to pry away the useless remains of their mangled back bumper. Luckily no one was hurt.
Actually this is the second time I have been involved in an incident at the 10-405. The last time I wasn’t so lucky, as a car slammed in to me. The ironic thing is the cops were already parked about 50 feet away and were there in about 45 seconds. Overall, I was impressed by the grace with which LAPD handles transgendered traffic victims; everything was completely normal, the way it should be. In that case the girl behind me was overwhelmed with guilt but it sounded much worse than it looked. I was just left with a distinct imprint of her license plate on my back bumper to remember her by.
Now I just have to be more careful. Keep your eye on the road and not on your makeup in the rear view mirror.