(me, unabashedly showing off how adorable he is, even though these pictures have nothing to do with this story.
he certainly didn't look like this on the way to the doctor.)
They couldn't squeeze me in at my normal office, and their other location was in relatively unfamiliar territory. I was driving a bit slow, knowing I had to turn right into the parking lot soon and afraid I would miss it.
Enter Big Bad Black Truck, merging in directly behind me. Can't see his headlights. He's mad I'm going slow. I'm ignoring him.
I'm watching signs closely, hands at 10 and 2. I see it. I turn. I squealed the tires only a leetle bit.
Big Bad Black Truck SLAMS on his brakes, spewing black smoke everywhere. In my rearview mirror, I see him flip a Uey (how do spell that?!) IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD and follow me into the parking lot.
Big Bad Black Truck, riding my tail. I glance at the NBC. He's sucking his thumb, thoroughly unconcerned.
I pull into a space and cautiously open my door.
I didn't know the F word could be used in so many different verb tenses. It was actually rather impressive in an obtuse way.
Among other things, he said
- that I was an awful driver
- that I was lucky he didn't run me over right now
- that he had four kids in the car and they all could have died, how dare I, etc., etc.
- that I was ... a lot of foul things
Confound it, I started to giggle. It was just all so ridiculous.
He concluded by calling me the wildly creative name of a female dog, and screeched off into the sun.
My hands were shaking for a good ten minutes.
After the doctor's appointment, on the way home, I pondered on what I could have said had I been in possession of my vocal faculties.
"You're an incredible role model for your four children. They must adore you."
"You must be having a really bad day if a slightly late turn can make you that ornery. Do you want a hug?"
"You shouldn't even have four kids in the back of a pick-up, you know."
But my mom said it best -
"Jesus loves you, but everyone else thinks you're a jerk."