On The Way Home

Here’s a diagram so you know what I’m talking about. It’s not drawn to scale, but it does look a lot like a wine bottle, don’t you think?

There’s a stretch of road that sort of guides you into one lane and if you don’t stop at the gas station just down from the spot pictured above, then I consider you local. Because there is NO reason to go this way unless you are someone coming off the highway to buy gas or you are someone who lives out here in BFE. Being local means you know the frigging deal with this stretch of road.

I’m tooling along and realize the dump truck is Mr. Lee. I don’t actually know Mr. Lee but he lives not too far from our house and I’m frequently behind him as we both head home. He drives the dump truck like a race car driver. He doesn’t screw around. And, he keeps a very clean truck so there’s never, in the 10+ years I’ve been behind him, any thought of something flying up or out and cracking you in the windshield. He’s cool.

Now, you’ll notice in the above diagram there’s a Camry marked as Cow. This is because she started speeding up to crowd me out of being able to merge over into the lane. I DO NOT care about being behind Mr. Lee as I’ve said. But, apparently, Cow is a cow because she was busy speeding up to cut me off and FAILED to notice that she’d be behind a dump truck. At the last possible minute, she starts that “oh I didn’t mean to speed up, you go ahead and get in between me and that dump truck” crap. FUG no, Cow. You wanted to be ahead of me. Go right ahead. So I slowed way down and let Cow go ahead, pretty as you please.

Heh, heh, heh. That poor woman had no idea what hit her. A dump truck that flies around corners and a passive-aggressive maniac behind her making sure she keeps pace with the NASCAR dump truck. Because, if you are too damn dumb to see a red dump truck in front of you, then you get sandwiched between fast drivers and you SUCK it.