"somewhere other than inside the out there." -- part thirty.
for quite some time, i was a floater for my company. this meant that if some management type was going on vacation or someone got fired suddenly, i would drive to that studio and work there for a few weeks. luckily, in the short time that i remained at that studio, this only happened three or four times. usually, i was thrilled to get the drive time and mileage on top of my regular hours.
there was an obstacle.
i don't know if you know this, but new orleans is not only surrounded by water, but it should technically be underwater. technology saves another dead-on-its-feet city.
another thing that i'm not sure you know, i hate bridges. i panic. i really do. this isn't some elaborate condition going back to when i was five and i fell off a bridge. i never fell off of a bridge. i never knew anyone who was involved in some great bridge tragedy. on all logical levels, i should not be afraid of bridges.
and it's not necessarily that i'm scared of heights. that would make sense. heights are scary.
but, i'm scared of bridges. put that with the fact that new orleans is surrounded by water, and the event of entering or leaving the city becomes a fairly big deal, in my head anyway.
now, when someone asks me why i'm scared of bridges, i, first, must correct them. i am not afraid of the bridge itself. i know the bridge will not eat me. nor will it stalk my family and friends. nor will it humiliate me until i have no human rights left. i am also confident enough in engineers to know that the bridge will not collapse, especially if there aren't any fault lines around.
i am scared of falling off of bridges. primarily, i am scared of losing control of the car with which i am driving over the bridge. it's a thing. i can't help it. it doesn't come up too frequently, and so far, it hasn't impaired my ability to travel.
back to the point.
these studios that i was travelling too to fill in ... one was in slidell (over a seven mile long bridge) and the other was in hammond (which is on the other side of about twenty miles of spillways.... code for bridges).
whichever studio i was going to, i had to traverse these beasts.
what's my point?
i would come home, two hours later than usual, my hands red and pulsing from the white knuckled ride, and boy would be waiting for me, sometimes with a cup of tea ... always with arms open wide. and he would calmly whisper, "now, you can breathe. you're safe."
i'm completely convinced, from then until my own lungs fail, no one else would ever do that for me without somehow laughing at my irrational fear.
