Heated Response Is Optional

What is wrong with people these days?

Whoa...hold on...simmer down now! That was a rhetorical question. And too broad. What I meant to say was, "Why can't people drive like normal people driving these days?" You still don't have to answer. No need to duck your head and refuse to make eye contact. Let me answer for you.

I don't have a freakin' clue!

You know how you are in a hurry sometimes? Like you just allowed the exact amount of time you need to get somewhere five minutes early? And then you get behind these not-heavenish drivers? I have had more than my share of those moments this week.

First of all, there was the trip to the vet with Puppy Jack on Tuesday morning. His appointment was at 10:00. We left home with time to spare. I was planning to drive through McDonald's so The late-sleeping Pony could have something to eat. But when we hit the county lettered highway, we were forced to bring up the tail-end of a slow land-boat to China Orient Anti-Express.

Seriously. People drive upwards of 80 mph on that lettered highway. The speed limit is 55. But they're all in a hurry. I used to worry about my mom coming to visit, because she drove 45 along that section from town to our turn-off. People would ride her bumper like they were Bud and Sissy, and she was the mechanical bull at Gilley's.

On this day, we drove 32 mph. What is freakin' wrong with people that they can't even drive the speed of a latter-stage septuagenarian? Oh. You don't have to answer. I suspect that those turtle-folks are texting. That's because they sweave worse than Farmer H with an ear infection and loss of equilibrium. You have to be ever-vigilant, lest you meet one coming AT you, over the center line.

After we passed the prison, that Galapagos-blooded driver kept on a-goin', perhaps to the gas station chicken store for a 44 oz Diet Coke to give him energy to drive faster. And we turned to take the roundabout and the road behind Hillmomba's high school. The one where I refused to send my own kids. Wouldn't you know it? As soon as we rounded the last of the two 'bouts, we were smack-dab behind a truck driver in training! I know that, because the back of the truck was painted with letters proclaiming "Local Junior College Truck Driver Training School."

I'm all for truck drivers in training being safe. But is it too much to ask that they drive at least the legal posted speed limit of 30 mph on a level, straight, two-lane concrete road with ample shoulders? I think not. The Pony even asked, "Do you think that truck is loaded? Or they're just pretending they have a load?" Absolutely no reason to chug along at 25 mph. Suck it up, Buttercup! This is your future career. T-Hoe won't even idle that slow.

And TODAY, on the way home with my 44 oz Diet Coke, I came up on a trash truck on our blacktop county road. He had flashing lights across the back, and a dumpster-loader on the front. I'll be ding dang donged if he didn't stop in the road, lower his loader, get OUT of the truck, walk up the driveway of the customer, and wheel their dumpster down to the road to put it on the lift! WTF?

At least I could see to get around. But Mr. Customer Service had not even tried to get over to the right-hand edge of the road. There were 3-5 feet left to the edge of the right-hand pavement. I had to squeeze T-Hoe along with two tires balancing on the left edge like a Wallenda's feet on a wire stretched between two skyscrapers, all the while making sure not to hit T-Hoe's mirror on the trash truck mirror.

What is wrong with people these day?