Sign of the times

Warning:
I am glad to know that I am a nice person, at least initially. Or that my first and instinctual proclivity is toward kindness. Yesterday morning during my commute, I was behind someone who was doing a lot of drive-stop-drive-stop maneuvers that had me concerned for the driver's safety. The roads were dry, the sun was out, not a squirrel or cat to be seen trying to cross the road. I could not instantly confirm what would cause someone to st-st-st-st-stutter drive this way. My initial thought was "Is that driver ok?" A tiny sense of alarm was included.

But then it went on and on.

The constant tapping of the brake pad looked like a red strobe light in a very ugly Discotheque I would NEVER visit. What could be the issue?

And then I saw it.
As the driver turned his head ever so slightly.
The cause.

I mean, the proximate cause since IDIOCY is the primary cause.

So I wanted to give something to this particular driver. And since I'm not the kind of girl who owns a grenade launcher (a blessing...for some) this will have to do:


Feel free to print and pass out as necessary.

Dazed and confused

Dear Mr. Ford Probe Driver:

Yesterday, I was behind you as we exited a parking lot onto a main thoroughfare. I appreciated the level of care and extreme caution you employed as you looked both ways. And then looked both ways again. And again. And again. But I also noticed there were NO cars coming in either direction. Are you watching tennis? Can you press the long pedal please? What are you doing?

You finally pull out moments before my resistance evaporated into a horn honking symphony.

I was none too delighted however to discover you seemed to be planning my same route, but there was no escaping it. As I followed you down the street, I noticed you were driving very attentively. Too attentively if there is such a thing. The speed limit on this road is 35 mph, but you wanted to drive 30. I designed a dozen reasons why you would do this. Maybe you don't feel well. Maybe you are having a bad day. Maybe your leg is in a cast making it difficult to press that gas pedal too long.

As we pulled up to a red light, I continued to rationalize your uber-cautious behavior. Until I noticed a peculiar scent. You were smoking a cigarette I noticed, but nothing RJ Reynolds manufactured. And then you casually dangled your arm out the window I observed two very interesting details. One, a cloud of smoke has just exited your car. And two, betwixt your fingers of your casually dangling arm is a little something that looks quite similar to marijuana contraband.

Let me review. You will drive for the past fifteen minutes like an 80 year old woman with an eye patch and a horrific driving record, yet, you will dangle your joint out of the window as clouds of exhaled cannabis waft into the open air.

You are dazed and confused. Here is a tip: You don't drive with such extreme caution in an effort to avoid drawing notice (which, by the way, draws notice) to then let billowing clouds of reefer out of your car at the stop light. The same stop light in which you are clearly inclined to put that doobie out the window. Not wise, Mr. Ford Probe Driver.

And then, two streets up, you pull into a driveway. A driveway, loaded with construction vehicles, equipment, and workers. As I was then stopped at a red light just adjacent to the driveway, I watch as you exit the vehicle in your construction vest, and don your hard hat.

Oh yes, please do protect your melon with that hard hat and don't think twice about the fact that not getting high before working at a construction site is a critical safety precaution. Nothing could prepare you more for that jackhammer than narcotics.

I wonder if you were the same construction worker who, in the building of my brand new home years ago, left a empty Cheetos bag on my unfinished bathroom floor and a surprise in the inoperable toilet. I would assert you could be. Only someone baked would know you can't flush a toiled when the plumbing is not hooked up yet. But, I bet those cheetos were just as good as Chester Cheetah claims. I am sure you enjoyed every cheesy crunch.

So smarten up, Chia Pot. Try not to drive a staple gun through your palm while you giggle uncontrobally and fantasize about Moon Pies. And please, don't let me get trapped driving behind you again.