Friday, August 2, 2013

I'm Probably Going to Wind Up On the Wrong End of Road Rage One of These Days

Did you ever have the feeling that you are the subject of somebody's blog post? Yeah. Weird, huh? I don't mean to brag, but I am quite sure that somewhere, somebody is typing their fingers to the bone about me. Typing so fast that the contestants on Survivor and Naked and Afraid are arm-wresting with what little dehydrated strength they have left to hold shredded coconut shell fibers over the keyboard to catch a spark.

It all started when I took The Pony to town this morning to meet up with his grandma for an overnight visit. I dropped him off at Little Caesar's. Mom was getting him a pizza for lunch. After all, it was nearly 11:00 a.m. I pulled out of the parking lot onto the city street. It was a right turn. The only oncoming traffic was a football field away, having just gained a green light. Yet within seconds that speed demon was upon me. On me like Val on a 44 oz. Diet Coke.

I was going the speed limit, of course. Val is no scofflaw. Rolling along at 35 mph without a care in the world, visions of 44 oz. Diet Coke dancing, with thumbs and little kicks, in my head. And then that sight in the rearview mirror, scarier than the Animal House "Eat Me" cake car. It was an itsy bitsy teeny weeny metallic baby-poop-green miniature SUV. So close that I could not even see its rubber baby SUV bumper. That's too close! If I had suddenly slammed T-Hoe's transmission into PARK, and then REVERSE, his beeper would have warned me that an object was in imminent danger of strikage.

It was only about a half mile to my turn. A right, just past my mom's bank. You know, the one that shorted her ten dollars on her check deposit with not-enough-cash back. I signaled with plenty of time before the turn, yet not too soon so as to make my automotive dingleberry think I was turning into the bank to be shorted ten dollars. I applied the brakes, and slowed gradually for my turn. A sharp turn, I might add. More than a 90-degree turn. Kind of like a switch-back on Pike's Peak. Oh, dear sweet mother of all that is phobic, DO NOT EVER drive up or down Pike's Peak. They have a train to get you there. No need to go all Overlook Hotel creepy-music crazy getting there by pavement.

As I pulled T-Hoe's steering wheel to the right to commence my turn, Speed Demon HONKED at me! Can you believe it? Someone as safe and careful and law-abiding as myself, getting the HORN?

I don't know why Speed Demon didn't just whip into the center turn lane to go around me. Everybody knows that space goes to waste here in Backroads. It's like a no-man's land to be avoided at all costs, only veered across hastily from the right lane when turning left.

Yes, Val's law-abiding ways were rewarded today with an unceremonious toot of outrage.

Or as I refer to it: mission accomplished.


  1. I hate the honk! Just tap your break asshole!!

    What are you supposed to do when they honk? Go back and turn again to their liking?

    I always just wave at them like I know them and the honk was a greeting.

  2. I once had a car with a bumper sticker on it that read: I brake for no apparent reason. I never had cars tailgate me. I don't own that car anymore and can't find another of those bumper stickers, but I keep looking.

  3. Speed Demons just HATE drivers who follow the speed limit. Especially when they have to follow one. Makes blood shoot out of their eyes and veins bulge in their necks. I like that. You get extra points for earning a honk.

  4. joeh,
    Oh! I would LOVE to do that! Get back in front of them and turn again.

    Well, you are assuming that all Backroads drivers can read, I suppose. So even if Hick found such a bumper sticker for me at the auction, it might not be effective around these parts. Maybe some kind of rebus showing brake lights and assorted reasons, like deer, possum, squirrels, etc crossing a road. Or a head with the twirling crazy temple finger, a woman symbol from a restroom door, and a steering wheel...

    Indeed, I was proud of this distinction. If only the police officers in their station catty-corner from my turn had heard, and come out to congratulate me!