When D&I may not be best: Sharing the radio
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When D&I may not be best: Sharing the radio
One of my funniest memories from a college road trip
Both colleges I attended were about an eight-hour drive. And before I had my own car (courtesy of my godfather who bought and fixed up my first car), I used to rely on my college roommate’s parents and my own parents to take turns driving us back and forth for holiday breaks. Unlike a few parents I knew growing up, my mother was persistent about everybody having their chance to listen to their music on road trips or even random grocery store rides.
My college roommate didn’t know this about my mother. My older brother, who was with us, was forever getting side eyes for picking the most violent Biggie and DMX songs (among others) during road trips with the two of us and my parents. My father was not nearly as thrilled to share the radio, but he appeased my mother on this.
I had a fairly good idea of the kind of music my college roommate played on her own time, so when my roommate put her headphones on immediately, I knew what was up. But my mother, ever the fan of diversity and inclusion, insisted that whatever she was playing be loudly blasted along with all of my favorite (and my brother’s favorite) songs. In her mind, we could all take turns playing our songs the whole eight-hour ride.
Recommended Read: “Pretty sure I’m going to Hell after that Uber experience ~ When two priests got into my car while I played Teyana Taylor”
My college roommate tried desperately to get her to change her mind and said she was totally fine just listening to her headphones. My mother, who can be as nonchalant as she is stern, was not having it. We were going to D&I this ride no matter what. She grabbed that AUX chord and my roommate’s phone, and the bass immediately dropped.
Three of four of us started bobbing our heads super hard to the opening of a Nine Inch Nails song. My mother liked the beat so much that she turned the volume up higher. We had absolutely no clue what the lyrics to “Closer” were. And then the chorus hit.
And I went from looking down while bobbing along to the instrumental part (and not knowing what “desecrate” meant) to looking directly at my roommate, who looked like she wanted to melt into the car seats and onto the nearest expressway. My brother’s smile couldn’t be any bigger, and my mother’s mouth dropped. I laughed hysterically at all of their reactions, but my stubborn mother refused to stop the song. So we listened to the whole thing until it ended, and my sweet mother decided we needed gas.
When she stopped the car and went into the gas station, my roommate scrambled to get her phone back, put her headphones in her ears again and ignore me still laughing. By the time she tapped off the gas tank, my mother never asked her to play musical song choice chairs for the rest of the ride.
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