I drive a big yellow truck. BIG, yellow truck. Technically it’s a Grumman-Olson body on a GMC P-30 chassis. Think like a bread truck or FedEx just a tad shorter in length.
I was driving down a 4+1 lane road headed into Lakewood yesterday. I was in the right lane and had just crossed a set of railroad tracks when I see a blue Civic sedan start to drift into my lane.
The rear tire of the Civic was even with or behind my front tire, so this person was definitely not in front of me at all. Apparently they didn’t have or use their turn signal, and I had an inoperative horn (I’ll fix it soon, promise). There are cars behind me so I can’t jam the brakes but I do slow down.
Right about the moment I begin to slow down they make their move to get into my lane with a quickness. I swerve out of the way and have my right side in the grass on the verge, throwing dirt and clods of grass in my wake.
Lane change complete, she finally looks in the mirror and sees me, back on the road, hands held out at shoulder-level as if to say, “What in the hell is your damn-fool problem that my 9 foot tall, 16 foot long, YELLOW truck was invisible to you?”
She holds up her hand by the rearview mirror, fingers splayed, wrist slightly twisted, in what is an apparent display of the female driver’s version of the phrase, “My bad.”
She keeps it up there like a beauty queen for the next quarter of a mile or so. It moves around occasionally as if with every change of aspect it’s indicating how “very, very” her apology is.
Stop waving, goofball, drive the damn car and, this is key, pay attention to the road! If you’re really that sorry call the ladies at Hi-Teck Nail and get Jen a gift certificate.
Momma needs a pedicure.
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