For the first time in over 16 years of driving, I came to a complete stop at a 4-way with three other motorists at the exact same time. To my left, a ‘good ole boy’ in a raggedy old pickup; a seemingly 100 year old man in a Buick to my right; and an attractive blonde in an Escalade directly across from me. Four weary travelers, locked in an endless battle of pure will and determination. Who will be the victor???
Our engines rev simultaneously as our glances lock onto one another from each corner of this concrete battlefield. There are no sympathetic hand gestures of “you go ahead” on this day. There is only the smell of exhaust and the taste for blood. The 100 year old man awakens from his nap and decides to go for it first. His Buick jerks forward ever so slightly, but just enough to interrupt the power-hungry glances of we remaining three. Just then, the good ole boy spits a wad of snuff out his window and lunges forward to intercept this elderly interloper. Breaks squeak and horns honk. The blonde looks out from behind her lipstick application just long enough to give me the “stink eye”. It’s now our turn to enter this derby. She inches her SUV forward to challenge me. I grip the wheel tightly and retaliate. Again, the air is filled with the sounds of angry honking. The old man coughs up a cloud of Jurassic dust and again drifts off to Geezer Dream Land. The good old boy guns it and deafens the rest of us with an explosive muffler onslaught. He sails through the intersection, narrowly missing the side view mirror of the old man’s Buick. “Oldy McOlderson” wakes with a jolt, straightens out the elastic in his Depends and makes a last ditch effort to go about his merry way. The Buick vibrated with ferocity, enough to jar the dentures of its pilot loose. Despite these obstacles, the old man proved his gumption by coming in 2nd place and plowing his way through the intersection. He muttles down the road (likely going to a drug store to purchase PolyGrip and Bengay).
All that remain are yours truly and the attractive blonde. My burning glare seems to say, “It’s just you and me, Toots.”. She revs the engine once more and flips her conditioned hair to exert a sign of dominance. Her expensive tires squeal and propel her “daddy’s money” death trap into a direct path with my modest, blue-collar chick repellant. I jerk the wheel in an effort to avoid collision. She blazes past me. Our eyes lock in one final stare-down. She extends her well-manicured middle finger in my direction. I respond by shouting out my phone number through my cracked driver side window. I really hope she didn’t miss any of the digits….my cell phone has yet to ring. Until we meet again, lead footed she-beast, keep on keeping on.