Doing this differently

As the semester has grinded on, my energy has drained. Commuting takes a lot out of you. By the time I'm home, all I want to do is sit in front of the TV and veg. My dad pointed out: "You work from 8:30 a.m. to 5 p.m., but you leave the house at 6:15 a.m. and don't get home until 6:30 p.m. You're technically working 12-hour days."
Because of this, I'm changing the approach to this blog. I can't sit and write about every ride of each day, but I can write about the interesting ones. Hence why I'm writing today ... I had an interesting ride home.

Day ended like it always does. I made it to the Pentagon at about 5:30 p.m. The line wasn't too long, so I got into a car pretty quickly.
As per usual, I got in the car (front seat) and thanked the driver for the ride. Another man got into the seat behind me and we were off.
The driver asked how we were doing and we responded with the obligatory "Fine." And then there was silence.
After about 10 or 15 minutes on the road, the driver pointed out a white SUV driving in the lane to the left of us and said, "Look. One person in that car! I hate when people do that and don't get caught."
Haha, he spoke first! That's the green-light to talk. So I chimed in that it happens all the time.
"Really? I guess I just haven't been doing this long enough," he said.
I asked how long he had been driving slugs and he said only six weeks. The guy in the back and I both chuckled. The driver asked how long we had been slugging and I told him since August, so not much longer than him, which sent the guy in the back into laughter.
"I've been slugging since '89," he said.
This jump-started the conversation about slugging and how it was really just carpooling until the HOV lane was built in the early '90s. The driver was curious and amazed at how the system worked. The man in the back and I both started sharing our slug stories, none of them really exciting, but interesting, nonetheless.
Then we started talking about the area, more specifically where we all lived. The driver had just moved to the area from North Carolina and was still trying to get used to being a "Beltway Bandit." (I'm going to dialogue the rest of this conversation because there's no better way to present it.)

Me: Yeah, my Dad hated it. When he retired, [commuting into D.C.] was the one thing he refused to do.
Driver: Retired? From what?
Me: Oh, the Marines. He was working on Quantico when he retired and now they're sticking around until my baby sister graduates from high school.
Driver: If you don't mind my asking, what did he retire as?
Me: Lieutenant Colonel.
Driver: What's his name? Maybe I know him.
Me: (note: Every time someone has asked me this since I've gotten here hasn't known my father, so I'm not expecting anything. I tell him my dad's name).
Driver: (Repeats my last name for clarification.)
Me: Yes. (I spell it out for him.)
(pause)
Driver: Artillery guy?
Me: (At this point, I know he knows my dad). Yes!
Driver: I know your dad! Oh man, yeah! We were stationed at Camp Pendleton together and then Headquarters here in D.C.!

At this point, I'm excited and freaking out at the same time. It was exciting that this guy knew my dad, pretty amazing, actually. But if he was stationed at Pendleton the same time we were, it meant that he and I had met before ... when I was in kindergarten. Weird thought, huh?
The guy in the back seat is laughing again at how weird of a coincidence this is.
The rest of the ride was the driver and I talking about Pendleton (at least, me talking about what I remember of it) and about the families we knew there, many of which are still close friends with us.
When he dropped us off at the parking lot, he handed me his card to give to my dad. When I got home, I told my dad that I was talking about him with the guy I rode with this evening ...
Me: "... and the guy said you sounded hot. Wanted me to give you his card."
I haded the card to Dad and he couldn't stop laughing.
He couldn't believe it, either.