Ok. Picture this. You’ve had a long, long day at the office. Work has beaten you down. You’re tired physically. Mentally, you seem to be in another world. With all of that, you still have to stay focused on the task at hand…which is getting home. So, to keep your mind at ease, you set your speed to cruise control as you coast down the familiar path from work to home.
Getting home in one piece seems to be a challenge when Toyota Prius drivers want to cut you off at every opportunity they see fit. WooooSaaaaaah, is all you can say as you breathe steadily and work your way south down the freeway. What was once a smooth commute south on the 101 has drastically changed into a weave fest from lane to lane trying to avoid, seemingly, the worst drivers on the planet.
—(This is where I take over)
Apply the blinker. Check. Look into all your mirrors. Check, check, and check. Glance over your right shoulder. Check.
Ok, now glide Big Baby over into the next lane so I can prepare to exit. DANGIT! There goes one of those *%$@% Prius drivers speeding up when they see me changing into “their” lane. Really dude!?! You’re the one that invaded my space. Now you look at me like I’ve wronged you. (Pardon me while I vent) Like I was saying before being so rudely interrupted, change lanes and prepare to exit.
Finally I’ve reached my exit, and I’m parked at this red light. Just 5 minutes away from the house, and total relaxation. I can see it now. Shoes off. Shorts and a t-shirt on. Television on. Sipping a cool beverage. Probably some kool-aid or pink lemonade.
All I have to do is make it down this hill. Go through 3 lights. Then I will be in the comfort of my own home.
I coast down the hill, and what do I see? Some crazed man running into the road waving his hands like something is wrong. So, I pull over to see what the issue is. Maybe I can be the good samaritan and help him out.
HA! What an idiot I am. The joke’s on me. Ole buddy didn’t need help. He was helping…the great state of California, that is. This “fine gentleman” (for lack of a better word) was one of Cali’s finest. He was tucked away behind a bush with his handy dandy radar gun. Apparently I just got caught in a speed trap. Shoot!
Mel: (as I shake my head) I can’t believe I let this fool pull me over. I should’ve just drove off and pretended I thought he was a crazy man. He better not ask me a stupid question either.
—The dude knocks on my window…then I roll it down extra slllllooooooooooooowly.
Officer: You know what the speed limit is on this road?
Mel: (thinking to myself: “Yup…never fails. They always ask dumb questions.”) I think the limit is about 45 or 50.
Officer: NO! It’s 40 (as he shoves the radar gun in my face). I clocked you doing 53.
Mel: (thinking to myself: “One inch closer patnah and you may draw back a nub. Who am I kidding? Jail ain’t for me. So, hush up Mel.”) Sooo is there some type of fine involved?
Officer: Sure is (as he prints out the ticket). You will receive a notice in the mail. Follow the instructions and go from there.
Mel: Yah. Got it (as I took the slip of paper in disgust and drove off).
Now, getting pulled over didn’t scare me. It just agitated me. Staring the cop in the face didn’t phase me. It just rubbed me the wrong way how the officer acted (granted, I probably didn’t give him any reasons to be a nice guy).
What scared me? Maaaaaaan…..telling my wife the accountant! DuhDuhDuuuuuuuuuuuh!
…to be continued…
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