So I'm in a hurry a couple of days ago to pick Nola up from school. I've left work a bit late, and so I'm scrambling trying to make red lights and avoid trains on the way. I *hate* being late. So, cruising down Laney Walker and I'm happy because there are no trains in the distance. Thanks the iron gods!
But that happieness is shattered soon enough when the giant Escalade in front of me lumbers to a crawl in advance of the first set of tracks. I try to cut right, into the other lane to get around the guy, but there's a school bus stopped there, the driver apparently looking both ways. So my attention is focused on the big shiny truck. Finally, he inches across and speeds up. But for literally 2 seconds, because there are more train tracks to come. Brake lights. Blood pressure rising. C'mon! You're driving a huge truck!, I think. But my telepathy doesn't register with him so he continues inching his way across the second set of tracks.
And by now, even though I'm being delayed mere seconds, I'm seriously getting angry. And if you know me, you know that's something I just don't do. Unless, maybe, I have to pick up dog poop at 5:30 in the AM (but that's another story).
But angry I am, and especially so because I know there's still one more treacherous set of parallel iron bars set into the asphalt for this guy to navigate. So when his brake lights come on yet again, I've had it. Down goes my window, and out comes this:
"Goddammit...you're driving a huge truck! Not...eh. Not...uh..... Not...um, not something that can't withstand the stress of driving over railroad tracks at a decent rate of speed!"
Needless to say, my window went back up.
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THAT was awesome. That sounds like what I told Emmie on Saturday at The Boll Weevil: "EmersonReneeMcGowenHudson! If you don't leave those blinds alone right this minute I'm... going to think of something really bad to do to you!"
Even she laughed at me: "Mama, you silly!"
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