At least once a year, my aging, scientist boss asks me to pick him up or drop him off at AutoZone. He was in a talkative mood when I picked him up this afternoon.
Boss: Hey L-train, how was your weekend?
Me: It was okay.. I started writing a book of short stories.
Boss: Well, I hope you didn’t start with the story about your pants falling down on your run or your dress blowing up at that wedding.
Me: Ha. No, no I didn’t.
Boss: That’s some riveting, embarrassing material right there and I wouldn’t leave it out completely, just don’t start with it.
Me: I will keep that in mind. Hey, do you care if I stop for gas real quick?
Boss: Not at all. I’ll pay.
He told me a bit about his weekend and once I got to the gas station, he gave me cash so I went inside to pay. When I came back, I looked through the window and saw him sitting wide-eyed and rigid like he had seen a ghost. I opened the door.
Me: What’s wrong?
Boss: What is this playlist?!
I realized that we were talking over the music on the way to the gas station, making me forget that my workout playlist was still on shuffle. This was the current song (not for the faint of ears):
Me: Oh my god! I’m so sorry, that’s my workout playlist! You should have turned it off!
Boss: The song before this said, “Your daddy must have been drug dealer. Why? ‘Cause you dope.” I can’t believe you listen to this when you work out!
We sat in silence for the rest of the ride back to work. On the plus side, perhaps he won’t ask me to drive him around anymore. Fingers crossed!