Today whilst driving to work I was in front of a tan van that was speeding up and slowing down and speeding up and slowing down. When she, yes, it was a female, was speeding up, she would ride my bumper so close I could see the bugs screaming as they held on to her grill for dear life and then she would drop back ten car lengths instantly becoming a tan blur in my rearview. I have to say, it’s very unnerving, especially through a construction zone, where the sides are line with large orange barrels, flashing lights and metal signs that say “shoulder drop off”. And let me also say, it isn’t a slight, sloping drop off, oh no, it’s a 4 foot drop off in some places where they (the construction folks) have shaved the road down to its sub crust and you can feel the heat of the molten lava flowing underground. Needless to say, it’s a tight squeeze through there. I feel like a watermelon going through a hose pipe.
Well, I noticed when my fellow female driver would drop back, she would skirt the barrels, precariously skirt them. Then, all of a sudden, BAM she hit one sending it flying off into the blue, and then BAM she hit another one that went sailing as well. Then she swerved ridiculously into the middle of the two lanes causing the car next to her swerve dangerously into the barrels on the other side, until she righted herself back into her (our) lane.
Did she stop? No. Did she wave an apology to anyone? No. Did she change lanes into the slow lane? No. Instead, and this is a jaw dropper, she did it AGAIN! BAM, BAM! Knocking orange barrels into the wild blue yonder. Over and over again. Pieces of her car were flying off; I even saw the lens of her head lamp come off at one point, and she didn’t stop! Who doesn’t stop for that? Seriously? Because I know that all the pieces of my car are on my car for a reason. The Chevrolet manufacturer thought it best to put these parts and pieces on my vehicle and they were on my car when I bought it, so I assume that they are supposed remain on my car and not knocked off at any point in time and if so, I should probably be concerned about it.
Now, my beloved readers, I didn’t know if she had an exceptionally high hatred for orange barrels and was on a mission to wage war with them (while singing to herself the Heywood Banks, ‘Orange Barrel’ song), or if the orange barrels were covertly slipping out in front of her tan van, which is doubtful as they appeared to be minding their own business as I drove by, but it was very clear that if you were behind her or somewhere in the construction area, your life was in danger of being taken out by a large, plastic, orange and white missile filled with sand.
I sped up as best I could to get away from this maniac, barrel hater only for her to fly past me in the other lane once we got clear of the construction area. As she passed I gaped at her trying to see if perhaps she was having an epileptic fit, or going into a diabetic coma, but no, there was no medical explanation. Instead, what did I find her doing? She was eating breakfast. Seriously?
I have never been as humiliated as a fellow female driver as I was at that moment.
But my main questions are as follows:
1. How into her food was she that she could not eat and drive at the same time? Was she making her breakfast as she was driving? Was there a hot plate plugged into the cigarette lighter? Was her Mickey D’s sausage biscuit so awesome that she couldn’t focus on driving the almost 2 tons of metal down the road at 60 miles an hour? (FYI-I Googled it. A minivan weighs approximately 3,955 pounds.)
2. How did she not hear that she was slamming repeatedly into large, vibrantly colored barrels? How could she not SEE the barrels?
3. How did she not notice that PIECES OF HER CAR WERE FLYING OFF?
Dear readers, if you find yourself corralled in a hose pipe whilst driving a watermelon and you notice a 2 ton tan B-52 behind you shooting orange and white plastic missiles, might I suggest getting off at the next exit.
Drive safe and for the love of all that is Holy, stop cooking breakfast as you are driving,
M.L.
P.S. Clearly I spend too much time on the interstate. J
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