Vanpool

5:45am ... The alarm on my cell phone jingles to the tune of the T-Mobile commercials, bringing me out of my recent dream. I haven't been asleep for long as I got up just barely two hours ago to bring my 5-month old son to my wife so she could breastfeed him. I shut off the alarm and lay there for a second to gently ease into the day.

6:00am ... A second turns into 15 minutes as I wake up again and look at the clock on my cell phone. I literally roll out of bed so as not to jostle my wife and son who fell asleep in the bed after being fed. I jump in the shower and let the warm water slowly wake me up as I think of what I have to do for the day. I don't spend much time in there, for I have a schedule to keep.

6:30am ... I put a hand on my wife and lightly touch her. She sharply inhales and looks at me with wide eyes as if I were coming to kidnap her. Now awake, I let her know that it's time to go. I grab our son and put him in the car seat as she gets up and trudges out in her pajamas. Not caring, since she won't be seen, she puts on her slippers and says she's ready to go. We pile into the truck and take off to the meeting spot.

6:45am ... We sit in the truck waiting for the rest of them to arrive. A few are already there, but not all. I kiss my wife goodbye and head over the van. We're waiting for one more person ... again.

6:55am ... The latecomer finally arrives and the vanpool takes off for work.

The front seats hold the two self-proclaimed leaders of the vanpool because heaven forbid that they should sit further back in the van. The driver holds herself as upright as possible, as if by doing so she can show how much better she is than the rest of us. Her partner in crime sits in the passenger seat a little slouched so as not to be higher than the other. I've nicknamed them the captain and co-captain, though Hitler and Mussolini would probably be more appropriate. One day the co-captain was off work and the front passenger seat was open. It remained empty on the ride to work and back because no one dared invade her space, even when she wasn't there. The whole ride to work they talk about the passengers in the vanpool, the money everyone's saving, the days people will be off work, and anything else over which they feel they can have control.

In the middle seat sits a man who lives vicariously through his son. Any comment made about anyone else's children will elicit a response from him about his. If this conversation doesn't revolve around children or sports, then he's usually quiet. The interesting thing is that he knows this and admits freely to it. Well, at least he's honest with himself.

Behind him in the back seat sits the talker. Studies have shown that women use around 3,000 words a day, and with twin teenage daughters she must need to use up her words with us because she can't get a word in edgewise at home. I've tried to count how many seconds of silence we have, and I haven't been able to get past five.

Next to her is the late-comer. Not one day has she arrived on time or before anyone else. She's the type that will always be 5 minutes late, no matter what time she leaves her house. The dictators of the van have talked about asking her to arrive just 10 minutes earlier, but I feel that would be like asking the earth to stop spinning. If it did, everything would fly off in chaos and destruction.

Finally is the mouse of the van. I've only heard him speak twice in a day, once on the way to work and once on the way back. Even when someone tries to start a conversation with him, they only get one-word responses. I wonder if he's like that at home. His wife must do all the talking. Back to that 3,000 words a day thing again. Good thing men only need to use 500 words a day, but I wonder if he even gets there. He must use them all up at work.

4:00pm ... I leave my desk and clock out. The day has been long and work tough. I am glad to head home where I can see my beautiful wife and child again. I think about what we'll be doing that night and the funny stories I will hear about what he did today. But, before I can see them, I must endure the menagerie of personalities in the carnival ride called "The Vanpool."