Circle the Handbaskets, the End is Nigh!

Just when you thought civilization might have a few good years left before totally collapse...

On the way to town today, to drop off The Pony and some tabloids to my mom, we came upon a funeral procession. Or, rather, it came upon us, head on, from the opposite direction. I saw the line of cars stopped ahead of me, and the oncoming train of cars with lights on, preceded by the hearse. I did what any civilized driver would do, and pulled as far as I could to the right, then waited until the funeral party passed. Between me and the other cars in my lane was the parking lot entrance to a pawn shop. So I did not block it, but left that gap.

Just after the hearse and two lead cars passed me, with a full line of mourners still to come, I spied a car fast approaching in my rearview mirror. "I hope that car doesn't ram us. It's coming pretty fast. I know it can see that I'm parked, and those cars ahead of us are parked. What's the deal? STOP ALREADY!"

That car kept a-comin'. If I had put T-Hoe's PRNDL in R, I would have heard my back-up beeper go off. That's how close Speedy came to ramming me. Speedy sat for about three seconds, half behind me and half in the center turn lane.

THEN SPEEDY PULLED AROUND ME AND PASSED! WITH THE FUNERAL PROCESSION IN FULL SWING!

I shook my fist and yelled, "You speed-demon! Show respect!" It was not as good as my "You kids get off my lawn" speech. But I WAS strapped in behind the wheel, and didn't have full use of my shaking fist. "You know to pull off when a funeral is coming, don't you, Pony?"

"Uh huh. It's a sign of respect."

So after blowing by me, Speedy rushed up on the waiting line of cars and slammed on the brakes. The funeral passed, and we came upon the butt-end of Speedy at a red light. I shook my fist some more, for good measure, and my head as well, in an effort to shame some sense into Speedy. At the next red light, we were making a right, and passed by Speedy in traffic.

"Huh. It's not like Speedy is a kid who doesn't know better. She's all bleachy blonde with skin like leather. No spring chicken. And look! She has handicap plates! Must be MENTALLY handicapped." (Let the record show that Val does not mean this as an indictment of all differently-mentally-abled folk.)

"Hey! She had a hospital bracelet on her wrist!"

"Well, maybe she's an ESCAPED mental patient. Which would explain the big hurry."

I swear. It's the downfall of society. People have no common sense of decency any more. Who passes a car in the turn lane when it's pulled over for a funeral procession?

I am giving you all permission to seek handbaskets from my competitors. You may need them before my proposed handbasket factory is up and running.