Riding Shotgun

Key in the ignition. Seat belt securely fastened. Put shifter in drive.

So I'm on the road again, overnight in New York. There's a relentless rain storm pummeling the area. It's eerily similar to the last time I stayed in this very hotel back in May. I stood under a small smoker's shelter and puffed a cigar, forced to stand at an angle so the stick doesn't get wet.

I'm here with a group of my peers. We had dinner earlier and during the ride back from the hotel the skies opened up. One of my colleagues found that her windshield wipers stopped working. Not good. The roads back to the hotel were dark and visibility was poor even with working wipers! She had to drive with her head out the window, face lanced by the rain with hazard lights flashing. Ever been there before? Not good.

Other drivers who don't know what you're going through aren't exactly patient. We're probably shouting at the windshield, "What's wrong with this idiot!?!"  With no shoulder to take respite there weren't many options for her. I was having a cigar under the shameful smoker’s awning when she walked up from the parking lot, soaked and shaky from the ordeal.

On my drive to NY on Tuesday a commercial pickup truck fitted with a racking system loaded with ladders cut me off. The driver flew out of a gas station doing about 20mph. I don't know how he built up that much speed coming out of a small lot! I was driving 45mph, the posted speed limit. After a heavy dose of brakes and a chorus of "you have to freakin' kidding me", the road we were driving on went from one lane to two.

The truck shifted to the left lane and I stayed to the right. We both approached a red light. It turned red well before I could have sped through it so I slowed down, eager to get a look at the moron in the truck. No such luck. The guy blew the light. It was red for at least two Mississippi's. The cars entering the intersection from the left had to brake as they started their approach. The driver of the first car gave the truck the bird.

Maybe he didn't want to sit at a light beside the guy, me, that he just cut off. Maybe he was just in a huge hurry. Maybe he is just a douche bag. We'll never know.

When I got the bricks for my new fire pit last weekend I was worried that the weight would be too much for Melanie's Honda CRV. The wheels looked like they would burst if i hit so much as a routine pothole. So I took my time driving back, eased into the turns, gave extra time for braking & stopping and obeyed all speed limits.

Well that wasn't acceptable for the driver of a black Saturn behind me. I saw him approach and ride right up to my bumper. He tried to intimidate me by staying as close as he could and then did that move where he drifted out over the yellow center lines so I could see most of his car in the side view mirror. I refused to go any faster and this idiot was trying to scare the wrong guy.

He then dropped back a few car lengths and then raced up to my bumper again. His little games went on for a few more minutes.

Now anyone who knows me will tell you I don't usually honk the horn or get confrontational with road rage stuff. It does drive me insane but like the previous tale, I usually yell at my windshield not the driver. Well not today.

We approached a stoplight. There was a one lane to continue straight and a left hand turning lane. I stayed straight and the idiot came up on my left. I lowered my window but the car stopped far short so I couldn't see my enemy. The light turned green but I didn't move. The other car pulled up alongside me and all the windows were down. I saw the 17yr old driver; he looked to be bracing for an impact he knew was coming. I lashed out with a short, curse-laden attack. He cringed. I drove on.

Because of my hesitation at the green light another driver was riding my bumper but I ignored it. Nothing could bother me now. I drove on in bliss until I got home.

Pull the turn signal down. Wait for oncoming cars to pass. Make the left turn.

Maybe a month ago, I succumbed to temptation and ate lunch inside a fast food restaurant. While devouring the meal and wiping grease from my beard, the manager on duty slammed the phone down on the base. It was loud enough to trigger head turns and jaws ceased to chew across the dining area.

The manager, I later learned her name is Kimberly started complaining about the customer she just spoke to. "Some chick wants her order replaced. Same old, same old, you know!" Man, she was loud.

"Ashley, that's her name. She's coming through drive thru. She can't even come inside to do it. I hate when people do this because she knows it’s wrong. She even wants the drinks replaced even though she was just here! If it’s the lady I think it is, don't give it to her. She's done it like four times! The whole thing is all wrong.

A female worker in the background yells, “Just tell her she can’t have it. That you can’t just give it to her if she doesn’t come inside!”

Kimberly shouted back, “I cannot tell her that unless I see her face. I cannot tell her over the phone, no. I'll get in trouble.

Male employee ringing register says, “I don't even remember bagging that order.”

“You two don’t get it. I have to see her face. I have to be sure or she could call in and complain.”

Of course this debate lasted longer than my meal. I wanted to stay for the exciting conclusion, but duty called. I want to swing by there for lunch sometime soon and see if she’s still there. Maybe I could pull the same scam as Ashley and see how I get treated!

Gently pump breaks. Stop. Shift into reverse. Back down  driveway.

I’m parked in a lot waiting for a store to open. I hear a strange jangling coming from my left. I see a man who appears around 45 to 50 years old jogging behind a shopping cart full of aluminum cans and bottles. He’s got a couple large bags hanging off the sides of his cart too. As he jogs behind his cart along the sidewalk of the strip center, he shifts his gaze from somewhere in the parking lot beyond me and the entrance to a grocery store. Now he’s yelling something in what I think is Spanish. He’s slows to a fast walk but doesn’t stop. He’s keeps looking into the lot. He starts jogging again.

Now I hear a new noise. More can jangling but more muffled. I look back and to the right and see two men struggling with a shopping cart loaded with cans and bottles and several of the largest lawn and leaf bags created by man strapped to the cart, filled to the brim. They look frustrated. Their cart is overburdened and if they attempted to run, they would lose some of their load.

The solo cart driver continues his taunts right up until he makes it to the entrance of the bottle redemption area. He disappears from view. The duo with the heavy cargo presses on. 

I think to myself, “At least their embracing free enterprise. Competition at it’s finest. Adam Smith would be proud. I think.”