Today, as I headed to The Devil's Playground for the weekly shopping, a truck zoomed out in front of me. Oh, don't worry about Mrs. Hillbilly Mom! She has lightning-quick reflexes behind the wheel. It's only when she's on foot that she has the moves of a narcoleptic Galapagos Tortoise.
It was a small white pickup truck with a company's logo on the side in black. And on the rear bumper, it had one of those "How's My Driving?" stickers with an 800 number. I'm not identifying the company. Not because I want to protect them! Because I couldn't read it. Not because I didn't have my glasses. I drive without them all the time. The reason I can't give you the company name is that
THE TRUCK WAS DRIVING TOO ERRATICALLY!
That's right! Even if I wanted to take down that number and call to report on the driver's driving, I couldn't read the number because that white truck was weaving and swerving and speeding like Farmer H himself was behind the wheel!
My best ol' ex-teaching buddy Mabel will know where I'm talking about. I had just come from the Casey's where I get my gas, across from the bank that once shorted my mom $10, hung a right, and passed the florist shop that my cousin used to own, and then got in the left turn lane just past the frozen custard place. It was after my left turn, as I was driving down beside that auto parts store on the left, toward that apartment complex, that the white truck sped along the parking lot parallel to me for the length of it, then darted across the oncoming lane and right in front of me (!) without even looking. Then it jammed on its brakes to seem like it was stopping at the stop sign, but was really only slowing down enough to make a right turn and head towards The Devil's Playground's back entrance.
I might have been able to close the gap, because T-Hoe has a powerful V8 (not the juice drink), but there was traffic coming from the left at the stop sign, from that one-way end of the street. Not that it mattered to the white pickup truck that zoomed out in front of it. I don't know where that scofflaw was going, but last I saw, he was past the Pizza Hut stop sign and looping around toward McDonald's.
Maybe he had a hankerin' for a McRib. They're limited time only, you know.
You're a kinder person than me. I would have followed him, and when he pulled into McDonald's lot or the drive-thru or wherever he was going to satisfy his hankering, I would have satisfied MY hankering and I would have jotted down the number and called.
ReplyDelete(I've done it before. Called, that is.)
After all, what else do you have to do with your time except stalk erratic drivers?
Oh, it was a Monday, and Farmer H was away at work, meaning your alone time was at a premium. NOW I understand your reluctance to waste time like this...
Like the McRib, it sounds like that driver will only be around for a limited time!!
ReplyDeleteSioux,
ReplyDeleteThat's right! It would have hurt ME more than it hurt HIM!
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fishducky,
Heh, heh! I'm pretty sure this was not an isolated incident where his driving techniques were concerned.
HeWho is a much kinder driver sine he has seen what aggressive driving will do when towing the mangled remains of an accident. Back in the day, when we had a pager repair/recrystalling business, we also contracted with Dish to do installations. We had a company van for the installations and had our logo, as well a phone number displayed prominently on the van sides. HeWho tended to tailgate people who refused to move to the slow lane while traveling on the interstate. He would also flash his lights and blow his horn. He would be shouting things like, "Move over, you idiot." On one such occasion while he was out on a call with the van, someone did call our office and complain. Our daughter took the call and was telling the nice woman that she would make sure the owner of our company would be notified when he walked in. She told the caller that he had just entered the building and she transferred the call to him. Although he assured the woman that driver would be fired, it did not make him drive nicer.
ReplyDelete