My hubby and I have two bikes and one car.
Most days I drive the car because I am running errands, meeting clients, and trying to cram a bazillion things into my day.
I am not a bad driver or a poor parker, but I am a bit more cautious than most. When I was 16 years old, I had an accident in my parents’ driveway that cost me $1,600 dollars.
While backing up, I smashed in the door of a brand new Land Rover and $1,600 was my cost after insurance. Just in case you were wondering, that is a lot of hours at McDonalds when you’re making $5.25 an hour.
Sixteen years later, I am still cautious while backing up.
This morning I parked in a crammed parking lot that was full to the brim. You know the ones I am talking about; the space left for you to back up isn’t quite enough to be able to pull your compact hatchback out of the stall without having to do a 4 point turn.
After I cautiously backed my little blue car to the point of nearly kissing a very large truck while cranking the wheel as much as possible, I looked forward only to see a man in a white car impatiently pull into my row and meet me bumper to bumper.
Mano a mano.
- Does he back up into traffic?
- Does he look repentant?
- Does he stop driving forward?
- Does he care he’s a horrible driver?
There I idled, trapped between a half ton and an idiot.
- get out of his car and flare his invisible lats
- swagger over to my car
- rap his hairy knuckles on my passenger window
- motion for me to roll my window down
Hon. You’ve got millions of miles behind you. Sweetie, you need need to keep backing up. Hon back up.
What I needed to do was punch him in the mouth.
A woman across the parking lot gave it to him.
Do you need to be such a crazy driver? Seriously! Where did you get your license?
I nearly pulled the e-brake and ran to give her a hug, but I had Hairy Knuckles hovering over me and calling me Hon.
If you can’t anything nice, don’t say anything at all.
Although it would have been nice to say…
- “Excuse me Mr T. wannabe dude, I am doing just fine without your degrading comments. I have a name, it is not ‘hon’, and I was doing just fine before you decided to drive like an idiot. Please remove yourself and your car from my bumper so that I can get on with my day.”
Unfortunately, all I did was grimace.
I endured loud directions intermixed with more hons and sweeties than is even reasonable and completed an 8 point turn to disentangle myself from the parking fiasco.
As I drove past Hairy Knuckle’s white car, I noticed a woman in the passenger’s seat.
She was peering at the floorboards and appeared to be praying from them to suck her into oblivion. If I was driving with Hairy Knuckles I would want to hide under the floor mats too.
If I see Hairy Knuckles again, I think I am going to give him a ‘hon’ straight to the shin.