Kids, don’t try this at home.
Generally I am not a confrontational person, but nor am I a
wallflower. I try to be kind, generous,
and to do unto others, blah, blah, blah.
I believe in teaching my children integrity by setting a good example
for them.
But sometimes I can be a b*tch.
Like many moms, the minute my boys get off the bus it’s go time. On Wednesdays, we have art class, then cub
scouts, then choir practice, and sometimes we have baseball practice mixed in
there. My Swagger Wagon is my mobile
office. I try to be a courteous,
considerate driver; I allow people to merge and to make left turns in busy
traffic, and I always wait my turn.
Our route home from art class takes us on a windy, narrow
road that has no shoulders. We were
having a pleasant evening drive (meaning the kids were watching a video with
headphones on and I was listening to a station other than Radio Disney) and I
was driving the speed limit.
The vehicle behind me was becoming increasingly
aggressive. He began following me
closely and eventually he flashed his lights at me and honked his horn. Naturally, I became Johnnie LawFollower and
made sure I drove EXACTLY the speed limit as I watched him give me the universal hands-up
sign for "WTF" and an incredulous shake of the head.
We came up on the light at a major intersection, and I knew
from experience that the red light would follow a long cycle and that we’d be
sitting there for a few minutes. I
checked out my rearview mirror, told myself don’t-do-it-don’t-do-it-don’t-do-it . . . . put ‘er in park, and told the boys to sit tight.
I walked back to the car behind me (picture John Wayne, complete
with thistownain’tbigenoughforthe2ofus whistling, except with staticky hair and
orthopedic Danskos) as the obnoxious driver looked up from his phone long
enough to fiddle clumsily with his window putter downer.
“You know this is a MINI-VAN, right? It’s NOT a Porsche,” I explained, pointing to
my vehicle, because apparently he was unaware of the physical logistics of
driving an automobile of the grocery-gettin’ variety.
“Yeah, I get it.” Quite
the forensic debater, this guy.
“And my BABIES are in this car?” I continued. Mama Bear’s claws were out. I’m sure my eyes were all bugged out, and I
may or may not have bared my teeth.
“There is NO need to flash your lights at me or to honk your horn.”
“I didn’t flash my lights,” he insisted. Did so, did so, did so. “I did honk at you, but only because you
braked during the turn.” Um, there was
another car in front of me, Jack@ss.
I closed my argument with an emphatic, “Mini. Van.” and
walked back to the Swagger Wagon, like a Boss.
I should not have engaged this man in conversation,
especially when any idiot with a free Saturday afternoon and directions to the
Moose Lodge can own a gun these days.
And I certainly did not behave in a way I would want my children to
emulate. To you, Mr. Honky Flasher Guy,
I apologize for making you the brunt of my self-righteous Mommy rant. I will be more tolerant of bad drivers. Starting tomorrow.
Jenn, I am SOOOOO proud of you while simultaneously grateful that you were kept you safe in your quest:)
ReplyDeleteI'm FOREVER feeling like jerks are forcing me to speed thru yellow lights etc. & I've never had the "hutzpa" (as my jewish grandmother would've said) to approach them...ok..I have but only via my wuss way of sticking my hand out the window, middle finger style, upon their triumphant passing, flashing and honks....