There I was driving up Union Street minding my own business, following a state dump truck. The speed limit on that street varies depending on what neighborhood and town you are traveling through, but generally it doesn't go over 45 mph. The day was warm and sunny, the air kissed with coolness just enough to be comfortable. I was in no particular hurry.
Suddenly a silver roach coach (patty wagon, lunch bucket, sandwich salon) appeared in my rear view mirror. I had not seen it approach, wasn't sure where it had come from. But it was entirely too close to my back bumper. It felt like there was hardly a hair's breadth between us. "Hey! Back off!" I wanted to yell, gazing in my mirror, craning my neck to see who was driving.
Instead of some big burly construction type that I was expecting to see, I discovered a diminutive young girl. She was probably in her mid twenties and could barely see over the steering wheel. She was obviously in a hurry, likely late for coffee break business somewhere. I could read the anxiety on her face, see her gesturing wildly for me to get out of her way.
"Not gonna help if I move, blondie," I thought. "I can't go any faster than the truck in front of me and neither can you." That apparently made no difference to her. The hand gestures were becoming a bit obscene as she nosed closer to the line in the middle of the road, trying to see if she could pass me despite the solid line. Now I was more than a bit worried. She was driving dangerously - the kind of person you want to let by you so they don't cause an accident.
We were coming up to a light. Surely she would just have to wait it out. But no - she pulled into the turn lane and gunned it, zipping past me, past the dump truck and past the pick up in front of that, swooshing straight through the red light without turning just before oncoming traffic would have wiped her out. I could see her blond hair flipping back and forth as she gripped the steering wheel, gritting her teeth, determined to meet whatever deadline was driving her.
Surely one touch from her tense hands would curdle the cream and sour the milk in her lunch basket. What on earth! I reached my turnoff not a block later, glad to be rid of such a nuisance. As I tooled along on Spencerport Road, a car pulled out right in front of me, going slow. "Hey buddy," I thought. "The speed limit here is 45, not 20. Push that foot down on the pedal and get your jalopy moving." I edged closer, thinking to wake him up and encourage him to go faster. After all, I do have a doctor's appointment. At this rate I will be late.
I nosed my car towards the middle line in the road to see if I could pass the old cout when suddenly I realized *I* was blondie! How horrible! What I detest in someone else had reared its ugly head in me. Ashamed, I pulled back in place and slowed down, backing off. Three speed demons zipped by the two of us, crossing a solid line to do so, and I waved and smiled at them all. Today, I will not be rude, no sir. After all, doctors often keep me waiting, so if I am a wee bit late, what does it matter? At least I will not irritate this person in front of me.
I flipped my definitely un-blonde hair and turned on the radio. We will get there when we get there and not a moment before. No sense making everyone miserable along the way.
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