Rocket Car

While pushing a wheelbarrow of Legos down a desolate desert road in the fall of my adolescence, I suddenly heard an engine. An engine unlike any other. I turned my head and saw only one bright headlight. My first snap-judgement about what this vehicle could be, with it’s unusual loudness and singular, central headlight, was that it was a Rocket Car.

This is when my young brain underwent a textbook example of what is known as Parallel Processing. One part of my brain continued with the task of coming up with things it could be, Rocket Car being only the first of many possible conclusions. Another part set to work planning the course of action that should be taken for each of these possibilities. A third part began pilling together facts about each possibility, so that the likelihood of each could be weighed, and a course of action chosen.

Fact: Rocket Cars are fast.
Fact: Rocket Cars are dangerous.

At this point these two facts were overheard by the second part of the brain I mentioned. This section, feeling suddenly rushed to decide on an action, just in case this first scenario were in fact the case, suddenly interrupted the whole rest of the brain. Before any other possibility had a chance to be thought up, I sprung into action. No Rocket Car was going to get me. I dove off the side of the road, into the bushes, toppling the wheelbarrow and scattering my Legos.

After a much longer delay than I had initially expected, long after having had plenty of time to think of other things this object could be, the danger passed.

A haggard, shirtless grey-beard in neon green windbreaker shorts stared at me with pomeranian-puppy-confusion as he sped past on a small spray-painted Harley with no muffler. It had occurred to me that such a vehicle was also a possibility, and a much more likely one given the income level of that particular area, but this realization had come too late.  Many of my best Legos were taken by the sand that day.