I tend to be a peace-maker. I avoid conflict, don’t like confrontation, and most certainly never go looking for trouble. But something in me is changing, and, in certain situations, I’m having a bit of trouble keeping my mouth shut . . .
As I turned left and drove up the hill, I heard a roaring behind me. Before I could even glance in my mirror, a shiny, black, ridiculously expensive sports car zoomed around me, changed lanes, cut off one car, swerved back into my lane, cut off another car, and disappeared in a flash. Where are the sheriffs (who are always around to pull over moms driving carpool) when you need them? I fumed as I drove up the hill and imagined myself giving that guy a piece of mind. If only he hadn’t vanished so fast.
As luck would have it, he didn’t.
I approached the red light and saw the fancy car at the front of the middle lane. I had no choice but pull up next to it. I don’t know what came over me, but I unrolled my window. There was an attractive woman in the passenger seat (girlfriend I guessed) and a handsome, mid-forties guy driving.
“Hey!” I yelled, motioning for him to lower the window. “Hey, I’m talking to you! Do you know what a speed limit is?”
The driver’s eyes shifted, but he didn’t open the window or acknowledge me.
“You think you can drive around here like that? Don’t you care about anybody else on the road? Are you trying to cause an accident?”
I considered pulling in front of his car to block him, getting out, and really giving him a piece of my mind. But that would have been a little too crazy, not to mention dangerous. Instead I just stuck my head out the window and continued my tirade while he focused on the light signal. He heard me, I could see it in the way he shifted in his seat. He was embarrassed, too. Wouldn’t even look at me! What a weeny. As soon as the light changed he took off like a scared bully.
I turned the corner and drove away, adrenaline pumping, thinking of all the things I could have said if I’d had more time. It’s frustrating when you don’t get the opportunity to speak your mind, to make your point, to finish your rant. But that’s one of the advantages of being a writer . . .
As the stupid man who cared about no one but himself sped away, his girlfriend started yelling at him for being an inconsiderate, self-absorbed jerk who not only was a terrible driver but also a pathetic lover. And because his ego was so big and his man parts so small, she needed to break up with him. She never loved him anyway. Soon after that he got fired. Then the fancy sports car company repossessed his car, the bank foreclosed on his house, his dog ran away, and his sorry little man part never worked again.
Don’t you just love a happy ending?