The Wagon

Yesterday, I fell off the bandwagon. And I woke up this morning at 5AM feeling very ashamed of myself as it dawned on me (in time with actual dawn, for what that’s worth) that my bicycle was in Park Slope.

Why was my bicycle in Park Slope? Don’t answer that, obviously.

I looked to my right and saw a mostly-eaten bowl of rice and beans. Goddamn. I went into the kitchen and re-arranged our spice rack. Because it made me feel accomplished, that’s why.

At intervals, I stepped into the bathroom to vomit oily bile into the toilet.

My chest was burning, my spices were neatly organized and my bicycle remained very, very far away. And as I crawled back into bed with my laptop, I found myself starting to type: How does one get back onto the bandwagon after one has fallen off?

Because the bandwagon is a thing that you fall off of, supposedly.

No, wait. That’s just the wagon. The bandwagon is a thing that you jump on with everybody else.

The wagon is the one you fall off of. It’s just a plain wagon. No one else rides that one; it’s a private hell for you and you alone. Where is your wagon going?

The bandwagon, I have now remembered, is something you ride with other people. But you have to jump to get on.

Do you know where the phrase “jumping on the band wagon” comes from? It started with a political clown — here, have his daguerreotype — who used to rent his wagon out to politicians to ride through town for their campaigns. It became a very popular thing to rent out this clown’s wagon. It was a status wagon!

Anyway.

Before one falls off the wagon, one has to assume that one is riding this wagon in the first place. Not the clown’s wagon, you recall, but the private hell wagon to nowhere.

For my part, you could say that this wagon has been a personal status symbol for me, a symbol of sanity and forward motion.

One second, the cat is trying is trying to get out of my room. No wait, nevermind, he was just scratching the walls for fun.

Anyway, I have questions about this “wagon.”

Such as: How do you get back onto the wagon once you’ve fallen off of it? Also, is the wagon moving? Is it like a swim-back-to-the-boat situation where it’s all fine and good to get close to the thing but getting back onto it is a whole other story? Or is it like the horse where it’s relatively easy to get back onto it but you have to trust that it’s not just going to throw you off in one of its bad moods? Or is it like getting back up onto roller skates where you have to trust that you won’t fall again, knowing deep, deep down that you definitely will?

I’m speaking in wagon metaphors, obviously.

This is the part where a man tells me I’m actually speaking in wagon analogies.

I don’t know if you can help me answer all of these wagon questions, but if you’ve read this far, then maybe you have ideas? If so, please let me know.

I’ll be right back to read your ideas. I just have to go get my bicycle from Park Slope.