No, you can't sit in my passenger seat

A typically weird trail of thought this morning led me to this: I hate giving people rides.

I am from Southern California. Maybe this has to do with the fact that my car is often a four-wheeled cave of solitude, and I like that. I don't often drive these days, but when I do, it's either with Adam or by myself.

I don't like making polite conversation while I drive.

I don't like explaining my musical choices or -- worse -- offering to compromise as to what's on the radio.

I don't like being distracted from the road. I'm a bad enough driver as it is.

My last year of grad school, there were several people with no cars. Now, I don't get this. St. Mary's is hell and gone from anywhere. But these several people had no cars, and the last bus to the BART departed mere minutes after class let out. The result: The car-less would rush those with cars after class ended with their drive-me-to-BART requests.

Sometimes I gave in. More often I made excuses. I liked driving home by myself after class, just thinking about what was said and what wasn't said and if there had been any arguments and how fun they were. I didn't want to talk. I'd had two classes at least, enough talk.

Besides, I still remember the time I drove two people home to Oakland. One sat in the front seat and talked on the cell phone to his girlfriend. The other sat in the backseat and talked on the cell phone to her friend, making plans for later that evening. Kids, if I'm going to be a cabbie, drop me a tip as you bid me goodbye.

To the car-less among you: I think it's great that you've chosen to forgo the pain-in-the-ass factor that often comprises car ownership. That said, find your own damn wheels when you need them.