Nothing But Love :: golf blogger

Was I absent on the day Mr. Wise taught us in driver's ed to stop for this guy? Have new laws been passed that vagrants and bums are now able to control traffic? And he didn't have a squeegee in his hand ... or towels ... or a squirt bottle.

So, y'know, I slowed down a little. I mean, I am kind of careful when I'm driving. After all, my senses are sharp since we are on heightened alert level orange. And because of that, I was wary about stopping for this guy who had his hand extended, palm toward me, just like we practiced in the sixth grade when I was a crossing guard. I was Guard of the Month once -- November, I think. Mr. Sikler said I would have been Guard of the Month an unprecedented second time, but my captain fucked me over because I reported that he went in early one day -- well, he didn't exactly say that, but that was the real reason.

So, I drove right on past his outstretched hand, and he screamed at me to stop, using some obscenities, which was to be expected, including the big one in my book, the one that will get you tossed immediately, no questions asked, by any umpire.

I slammed on my brakes, not because I was upset with the guy who screamed the big one at me and was now gesturing at me, but because a flatbed trailer with one of the biggest bulldozers I had ever seen in my life was being backed up into my intended path of travel and lightning quick calculations indicated that decapitation was more likely than not.

The scraggly beard, appearing larger in my side view mirror, yelled at me. I couldn't understand him completely. It was difficult to understand just what he was screaming because the windows of the white VW Beetle were closed and the tractor-trailer carrying the humongous bulldozer was making an awful racket at that point, but he had apparently formed an opinion with what scant information he had at his disposal that he could call a bald guy with a gray beard driving such a vehicle "a god-damned, mother-fuckin' idiot."

Now, in this time of good will toward men and all that, there are still days when confrontation is not a wise choice as a course of conduct. This happened to be one of those days.

Then I heard a knock on the window at my left ear, and he was motioning at me to roll down the window. I shook my head disgustedly, not really replying to his request, more so commenting on the entire situation. What the heck. There was a huge bulldozer on a trailer stopped there in the street, blocking all traffic; and this guy was part of the problem, not part of the solution.

And the scraggly beard was now wanting me to get out of the white VW Beetle. I should have called the police at that point, but it being the Christmas season, why would I bother the police with such a trivial matter.

I'm thinking that nobody had ever obliged the grungy gentleman and did as he requested because the look on his face, eyes wide and big and mouth open, teeth needing some work, and his back-pedaling, all while looking up at me, gave me the distinct impression that he was surprised that someone had taken him up on the offer.

And he said he didn't have a problem when I asked him. He even asked how the Beetle drove after he apologized for stopping traffic like he did. It wasn't supposed to go down the way it did, he said.