I started up our gravel road on Wednesday, having just returned from town. I had my peepers peeled for Creachers, post office security breachers, and white-Dodge overnight squatters. The Pony had told me to text him when I got to Mailbox Row, so he could be waiting on the porch to help carry in groceries. You know what happens when Mrs. HM plans. The Universe drags out a Rubbermaid tote from under its bed, rips off the lid, and starts chucking monkey wrenches at the well-oiled gears of Mrs. HM's system.
A quick survey of my surroundings revealed no intruders. I was planning to pull off on the Creach, in the little alcove where some stolen mail had been flung about like extra-large confetti after opening. There I would send The Pony's text. But a red sedan was behind me, so I kept driving. No time to signal and pull over at the last minute.
That car turned off at the first gravel road on the left, so I knew I could text while driving as soon as I ascended Farmer H and Buddy's Badly Blacktopped Hill. I glanced in T-Hoe's mirror, and saw
A BROWN UPS TRUCK RIGHT ON MY BUMPER!
Where in the Not-Heaven had THAT vehicle come from? I was scarcely 100 feet from where the red sedan had turned. NOTHING was behind me. Nothing was coming down HOS Hill when I made my left turn for the BB Hill. It was as if that UPS TRUCK had appeared out of nowhere!
Huh. There'd be no texting The Pony now. Not with a vehicle so close behind me. I must admit, I was just a smidge TEED OFF! These UPS TRUCKs drive way too fast out here. Faster than the trash trucks! Don't underestimate Mrs. Hillbilly Mom! I had a scheme up my short cotton sleeve!
The weather had been very hot and dry for that past 3-4 days. The gravel road is at its peak summertime parchedness. Clouds of dust billow in an ever-expanding cloud at even 10 mph. I got T-Hoe to the top of the BB Hill, and goosed him up to 20 mph.
It was GLORIOUS! The UPS TRUCK disappeared almost immediately. I'm sure it was still there, right on T-Hoe's bumper, but I could no longer see it. Just a mile-high dust tower that was spreading like gases from the bottom of a rocket upon launch.
Yes, I chortled with glee. UPS TRUCKs, you know, don't have a door. Nothing to keep out the heat, giant horseflies, fetid odors such as roadkill skunk, or... oh... I don't know... CLOUDS OF DUST!
I'm sure you've heard the expression: "Eat my dust!"
I fed that UPS TRUCK a feast the likes of which it will never taste again.
3 comments:
Is your nickname now Tawanda, after that bit of revenge you crafted?
I feel sorry for the UPS driver who is just doing his job and suddenly finds himself eating dust when he'd probably prefer a hot dog or a pizza. Perhaps his brown truck was hiding in the brown dust from the red car until it turned off and that's why you didn't notice him.
Sioux,
No, I'm a revenger, not an avenger. I don't hop the rails to throw out canned goods along the tracks. But I'm pretty sure I'm older than the UPS driver, and from the exorbitant premiums we pay, I probably have more insurance. Not that I've ever throw T-Hoe into reverse and start ramming Big Brown, though.
***
River,
I don't feel sorry. NO MERCY! It's not the nice lady driver we used to have on our route, who tossed dog biscuits to all the pets, and brought the package to the back door, laying it on Juno's dog house, then knocking twice on the kitchen door to alert us, then going back to her truck.
The UPS drivers out here now drive WAY TOO FAST! Leave packages on the ground or porch. Won't get out of the truck if it doesn't suit their mood. Leave Hick's diabetic machine thingy at a strangers house on the main gravel road. Or another time, at a stranger's house out on the blacktop county road.
NO MERCY, I say, as I gun that engine up to 20 mph and let the new Dust Bowl commence! All he had to do was BACK OFF my bumper, and let the dust settle. I slow down for sensible 4-wheerler riders, so as not to dust them.
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