Seriously considering emptying my savings and going heavily into debt to finance the purchase of an industrial farming tractor. The kind that are larger than most convenience stores and feature air-conditioned cabs with satellite radio and real leather glove compartments.

I would very much like to drive it, at full speed, which is probably no more than 10 MPH, and that’s with the wind at your back, up and down the side streets of my neighborhood. I would do so for the better part of the day – I would never farm anything – occasionally stopping to demonstrate the electric-powered automatic mirrors and sun roof to school kids who didn’t already hate me.

Often I would just stop in the middle of the street blocking 51% of a person’s driveway leaving them livid about driving over their own lawn to get anywhere while I sit, motionless, for hour after precious after-work hour. I will spend this time thinking about store brand bicycles I’d like to purchase from one big box store and attempt to return to another big box store as a test of the staff working the returns counter. I’d then report my findings to the Better Business Bureau and be a hero for the day.

Eventually I’ll get bored of driving this enormous farming equipment around town and grow tired of parking and re-parking it in the Civic Center Parking Lot between the parallel parking test cones. At that point I’ll drive it slowly into the Lake and hand over the keys to the mermaids. I’ll request but a kiss in return and $1.99 which I will use to purchase a Root Beer Slurpee and start my life anew under the name, Montgomery Jim Jim Alonzo.


About Chris Weagel

Chris Weagel writes about the intersection of technology and parenting for Wired Magazine. No he doesn’t. He can’t stand that shit.

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