Scene: Honda Civic, zipping down the interstate toward downtown.

HONK! HONK! HONK!

ME: What the ...?

HONK! HONK!

ME: OK, fine! I'll slow down and let you pass me.

(Green Ford Explorer doesn't pass. Instead he hovers in the lane next to me, a mere few inches from my car.)

HONK! HONK! HONK!

ME: What? Is there danger, Lassie? Is Timmy in the well?

ME: (scanning all mirrors) I'm pretty sure I don't have a small child or domestic animal adhered to the car in any fashion ...

HONK! HONK!

ME: What the FUCK? This madness has GOT to stop!

HONK!

ME: Well, maybe I know him. Maybe he saw the skydiving stickers and recognized me. Maybe I jump with him. (Glancing over the the driver's window.) No. I don't know a single person who wears yellow polo shirts. And I absolutely do not know anyone with arms that look like logs of summer sausage with hair.

ME: (Still trying to recognize driver) Wait, he's waving ... and now what? What's he trying to tell me? Can't see that well. And ... um, what is he doing with his hands? Making a circle with one hand ... and ... OHMIGOD, shoving a finger from his other hand into it?

ME: (Screaming) Aaaagh! He's no skydiver! He's some other pervert! MY EYES! MY EYES!

HONK!

ME: (Slowing down considerably to make the bad man go away) Great, the asshole has bumper stickers too. Lemme see ...
"I love my kids." How sweet.

This entry was posted on Saturday, June 18, 2005 at 8:33 AM. You can skip to the end and leave a response.