Road Rage

My morning and afternoon commutes to and from work are driven on a 16 mile stretch of two-lane road known as US 401.  Mind you, I pass through 2 small towns populated with good ol’ Southern Boys along that stretch.  They always seem to be equipped with an 8+ year old pick-up truck, a can of chewing tobacco, a trucker hat from Womble Feed Mill & Farm Supply, and an ardent desire to rubber-neck out their rolled-down window at the fervently interesting tobacco fields that line the blacktop pavement, one by one.  Driving ahead of Bubba is, inevitably, a Harnett County school bus that, I’m convinced, is governed at 40 mph.  You can bet your britches that by the time the school bus makes a left turn and my eyes begin to gleam with the excitement of acceleration, Betty Lou Marlboro has cut me off in her 1983 Cutlass Riviera.  Now I’m trapped at 35 mph.  Hence, my road rage.

When trying to ready two small children in a timely manner each morning, 15 minutes is a hot commodity.  If those 15 minutes that I worked so hard for are nonchalantly snatched from me, I get a little irritated.  Ok, not irritated.  Infuriated.  Not only am I trying to make it to work on time, I also have to go 4 miles past my employer to drop my babies off at daycare, then return the 4 miles back to the parking lot.  If I wanted to stop for a biscuit at Hardee’s, then I’m just SOL.   Seems that the State Trooper 3 miles back would jump on the chance to pull Grandma over for assuming the speed limit is just a suggestion.  Apparently, though, going 20 miles under the speed limit is not near the offense of going 20 miles over, even if it means you’ve assumed the position of parade leader to a line of 20 or so cars.  Officer Krispy Kreme obviously felt it wasn’t worth a day in court.

As if Bubba, Betty Lou, Harnett County and Super Trooper aren’t enough, NOW I have Victoria Upnose behind me, riding my rear bumper like a tick on a dog to the point that I’m wondering whether her Escalade has headlights or not because I CAN’T SEE THEM!!!!!  I can only go as fast as the geriatric citizen in front of me, Honey.  Your insistence in this matter means as much to me as it did to that patrol car back there.  Bite me.

And I’d just like to put out there that I am an unwavering advocate of annual driving tests for people 65 and over.

I’m not sayin’, I’m just sayin’.

Advertisements

4 responses to “Road Rage

  1. And this is why I an thankful I have a 2 minute drive in this crappy town they call Mercer…however some days it has taken me 10 minutes to go MAYBe 1/4 mile…..thanks to the line of cars coming up East Market not letting me out of my own driveway. Really people..I’m just sitting here counting cars at 7:30am…it’s fun, want to try it? Trade me places!

  2. Pingback: Got My Shit Boots On « The Wit Factory

  3. Pingback: A Case Of The Tuesdays « The Wit Factory

  4. Pingback: The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day | The Wit Factory

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s