Outta my way, hammerhead!
When did it become illegal to pull to the curb? Suddenly everyone is stopping in the middle of the freakin road to check their GPS, chit-chat with passers-by, ponder the infinite mysteries of the universe--even when there's plenty of space at the curb, wide open for parking.
Case in point: the other day I'm driving along (apparently with the moron magnet on my front bumper fully functional) on a neighborhood street jam-packed with cars parked on either side, which has narrowed it to one lane in one direction. The woman in front of me suddenly slams on her brakes to talk to a woman standing at the side of the road. I wait a bit, but as time passes I tap my horn lightly to let her know hello, there's someone behind you. No response. I edge closer and honk a bit louder/longer (still well under the angry honking level), and I see that just to her right is a HUGE empty space at the curb. At that point the woman she's talking to starts screaming at me to chill out and wait. Ummm, no. Normally I run from any form of conflict, but this is so apoplexy-inducing I start yelling back "Pull over and park! Pull over and park!" to no avail; she just keeps screaming at me to shut up. The driver edges over ever so slightly, not really enough to pass, but I nip through anyway and roar off.
The driving didn't get any better as the day progressed; as I'm driving home, same situation, only: with alcohol! Neighborhood street with cars parked on either side, and the woman in front of me is swerving wildly from one side to the other, jusshh tryin notta hitza carrrs. She also slams on her brakes repeatedly only to sit and stare around blankly. So I stay well back, until she suddenly guns it and wheels into a driveway. Then, as I am edging past, she suddenly slams it into reverse and starts to gun it backwards; as I begin honking wildly, she whips her head around, stunned by my presence. Apparently she never once saw me following her for a quarter of a mile.
And as if the driving couldn't get any better, right after that a biker clocked me approaching an intersection but blew through his stop sign anyhow and zoomed directly in front of me; you better believe I laid on the horn, to his astonishment (he then swerved out from in front of my oncoming grill). I am a huge advocate of the Idaho stop law (and practice it myself), but read the fine print, moron: you must YIELD TO ONCOMING TRAFFIC! I honked my horn more in one day than in the entire year preceding.
And while we're on the subject of slow-poke morons, how 'bout the lady in front of me in the checkout line the other day? This was at a perennially woefully understaffed store that attracts a certain slow-witted clientele, so I always expect some delay. But this was egregiously dilatory: line stretching for miles across the store as the clerk engages in interminable chit-chat with the customer she's ringing up and time crawls to a halt. Finally they open another line, and we all politely wait while the 'next customer in line' trundles over; I hesitate (switching lanes has never proven beneficial) but mosey on over myself.
Big mistake. HUGE. The lady waits until all her purchases are rung up and then and only then begins to rummage through her capacious Mary Poppins portemanteau searching in vain for her 20% off coupon. Seriously? SERIOUSLY?? We were in that other line for THREE HOURS and it didn't occur to you to dig it out THEN?!? Too busy staring off blankly into space??
She pulls out several huge fat wallets, a floor lamp, a fully cooked 3-course meal, several bleating sheep, Godot, but no coupon. Several months later she finally gives up the quest and opens the fattest of the wallets and...begins to write a check. Seriously? SERIOUSLY??? Ummm, 1992 called and said PUT THE CHECKBOOK AWAY, nobody uses checks any more! Apparently penmanship isn't her strong suit; generations come and go as she struggles to fill in the blanks with exquisite calligraphy. She eventually completes the task and carefully tears the check from the book hole by hole along the perforation. The clerk then begins the usual vetting: phone number, driver's license, date of birth, social security number, blood type, mother's maiden name, what you had for lunch, favorite Hanson brother (1992? still on hold for you, ma'am).
All this for a purchase of ~$20? So the 20% off coupon would save, what, $4? Anyone buying ridiculously overpriced Easter knick-knacks at this foo-foo store can afford the extra $4, and by the way? Who doesn't have $20 in cash?! Meanwhile the woman who took my place in the other line has completed her purchase and is halfway home, as are the five people in line behind her. And note that at no point during this process does the lady ever glance behind her to see the ever-lengthening line of increasingly impatient customers stretching out behind her--let alone apologize to us. She collects her belongings from the counter, shuffles everything back into the world's largest purse and ambles imperiously from the store. And yes, she stopped immediately outside the door, blocking it with her cart, while she scrutinized her receipt.
Give me STRENGTH!
Case in point: the other day I'm driving along (apparently with the moron magnet on my front bumper fully functional) on a neighborhood street jam-packed with cars parked on either side, which has narrowed it to one lane in one direction. The woman in front of me suddenly slams on her brakes to talk to a woman standing at the side of the road. I wait a bit, but as time passes I tap my horn lightly to let her know hello, there's someone behind you. No response. I edge closer and honk a bit louder/longer (still well under the angry honking level), and I see that just to her right is a HUGE empty space at the curb. At that point the woman she's talking to starts screaming at me to chill out and wait. Ummm, no. Normally I run from any form of conflict, but this is so apoplexy-inducing I start yelling back "Pull over and park! Pull over and park!" to no avail; she just keeps screaming at me to shut up. The driver edges over ever so slightly, not really enough to pass, but I nip through anyway and roar off.
The driving didn't get any better as the day progressed; as I'm driving home, same situation, only: with alcohol! Neighborhood street with cars parked on either side, and the woman in front of me is swerving wildly from one side to the other, jusshh tryin notta hitza carrrs. She also slams on her brakes repeatedly only to sit and stare around blankly. So I stay well back, until she suddenly guns it and wheels into a driveway. Then, as I am edging past, she suddenly slams it into reverse and starts to gun it backwards; as I begin honking wildly, she whips her head around, stunned by my presence. Apparently she never once saw me following her for a quarter of a mile.
And as if the driving couldn't get any better, right after that a biker clocked me approaching an intersection but blew through his stop sign anyhow and zoomed directly in front of me; you better believe I laid on the horn, to his astonishment (he then swerved out from in front of my oncoming grill). I am a huge advocate of the Idaho stop law (and practice it myself), but read the fine print, moron: you must YIELD TO ONCOMING TRAFFIC! I honked my horn more in one day than in the entire year preceding.
And while we're on the subject of slow-poke morons, how 'bout the lady in front of me in the checkout line the other day? This was at a perennially woefully understaffed store that attracts a certain slow-witted clientele, so I always expect some delay. But this was egregiously dilatory: line stretching for miles across the store as the clerk engages in interminable chit-chat with the customer she's ringing up and time crawls to a halt. Finally they open another line, and we all politely wait while the 'next customer in line' trundles over; I hesitate (switching lanes has never proven beneficial) but mosey on over myself.
Big mistake. HUGE. The lady waits until all her purchases are rung up and then and only then begins to rummage through her capacious Mary Poppins portemanteau searching in vain for her 20% off coupon. Seriously? SERIOUSLY?? We were in that other line for THREE HOURS and it didn't occur to you to dig it out THEN?!? Too busy staring off blankly into space??
She pulls out several huge fat wallets, a floor lamp, a fully cooked 3-course meal, several bleating sheep, Godot, but no coupon. Several months later she finally gives up the quest and opens the fattest of the wallets and...begins to write a check. Seriously? SERIOUSLY??? Ummm, 1992 called and said PUT THE CHECKBOOK AWAY, nobody uses checks any more! Apparently penmanship isn't her strong suit; generations come and go as she struggles to fill in the blanks with exquisite calligraphy. She eventually completes the task and carefully tears the check from the book hole by hole along the perforation. The clerk then begins the usual vetting: phone number, driver's license, date of birth, social security number, blood type, mother's maiden name, what you had for lunch, favorite Hanson brother (1992? still on hold for you, ma'am).
All this for a purchase of ~$20? So the 20% off coupon would save, what, $4? Anyone buying ridiculously overpriced Easter knick-knacks at this foo-foo store can afford the extra $4, and by the way? Who doesn't have $20 in cash?! Meanwhile the woman who took my place in the other line has completed her purchase and is halfway home, as are the five people in line behind her. And note that at no point during this process does the lady ever glance behind her to see the ever-lengthening line of increasingly impatient customers stretching out behind her--let alone apologize to us. She collects her belongings from the counter, shuffles everything back into the world's largest purse and ambles imperiously from the store. And yes, she stopped immediately outside the door, blocking it with her cart, while she scrutinized her receipt.
Give me STRENGTH!