The other day I’m trying to drive to work from Waltham. The lanes are so friggin’ weird there anyway because you have to keep changing lanes in order to avoid being forced to make a turn. Anyway, I’m driving through there and I’m behind what must be one of the slowest and dumber drivers around. I can’t see their head over the seat, which gets me thinking elderly. They slow at an intersection to let a truck make a left turn, even though they had the right of way. The truck driver was even letting the driver go ahead but they wouldn’t. I was trying to blow my horn at them but couldn’t in time (biggest damn drawback to airbags is that the entire steering front can’t hold the horn anymore!). Finally they drove through, and I’m right behind them to not get caught in the red. I try to remind myself that they might be old but I’m way too upset. Still behind them, they start heading to this other crazy intersection leaving Waltham (if you know the area, it’s the Rte 60 split from Rte 20). There’s nothing but green lights, but they start hitting the brake. I’m yelling to myself “You’ve got to be kidding me?!?!”—although I’m pretty sure I was actually yelling it. I finally lay on the horn and they drive faster through the light as it’s changing to yellow. I gun it to not be caught in another red because of this fuck!
I get through the intersection, and start to pass them as we’re heading up the bridge because I don’t want to be behind them anymore. I’m so pissed off that I’m ready to honk at them and curse them out out the window as I drive by, which is something I rarely ever get angry enough to do, but this was just really stupid of them. I gun the engine, start to pass them and I finally notice the person in the driver’s seat as I’m getting ready to yell out my window. First thing I see on the driver…
…A habit. It’s a FUCKING NUN, so I can’t even do anything but stew in my own juices and drive off grumbling. But now I’m not sure if I’m pissed off because I can’t curse her out because she’s a nun, or that I didn’t curse her out because her driving SUCKS!!!
This is what driving in Boston does to you. I really have become a much angrier person since getting my license and driving in this town!
September 3, 2007 at 9:26 pm
Dear David,
I can understand your extraordinary grief driving in Boston, or anywhere else!
While reading your article, I remembered an experience I’ll never forget! It all started the day I took the long way home from shopping.
—I really should mention that sitting in the passenger seat was my girlfriend at the time:
‘Cindy The Great’!
‘Cindy The Great’ was great at advising me when to put my signal on, where to turn, how fast I should go, not to forget to adjust my rear view mirror, to be sure I have enough gas, check the oil, check the water—and could I please stop leaving my dirty underwear on the living room floor!
We stopped at the gas station to fill up. She bought gum drops. It figures, too. Her gums are always flapping, so I guess she’s loading up for the drive ahead.
The gas tank is almost full, when Cindy starts her Gums A’ Flappin’
“Don’t forget to close the gas cap.”
Then she started to remind me of the time I walked in the house without wiping my shoes. She said that I got potting soil on the rug, in the kitchen and near the bathroom. She’s ridiculous. It wasn’t potting soil. It was semi-dry dog-shit from my next door neighbor’s fucking dog, Elmo.
Having finished with the gas, I slammed the pump spout in place, jumped in the car, and took off in time to hear part two of Cindy’s Masterpiece Theater Chronicles entitled: “Throw out the trash when we get home after you change the cat litter.” She thinks her cat is Sable—the little missy prissy; but I kicked Sable in the ass one day and had to replace her while Cindy was having her hair done by some freak named Franco.
So now we’re driving down the country road. She informs me that it’s hot in the car; that we should close the windows and put the air on. So I flicked my cigarette out the window, and I looked at my side mirror just in time to see it flow down perfectly in the gas tank. Apparently, this talk of cat litter had distracted me, so I forgot to close the gas cap.
As Cindy was closing the windows electronically, the whirling sound of the device masked that gut-wrenching ‘Whooosh’ noise usually heard when gas ignites. Then she turned on the air conditioner—she even found a nice tune on the radio to listen to: “Come on baby light my fire…”
Everytime the car hit a bump, burning gas would spill out—and wouldn’t you know it! the left wheel caught fire too!
So there I was, driving Miss Crazy, in the comfort of an air conditioner, listening to tunes—all the while there’s a full-fledged raging inferno just outside—all this at the speed of 60 miles an hour!
(Now, David, I want you to get the full effect of this so that you can understand the extent of my dilemma…)
The $48,000.00 burning car on fire that I was driving belongs to Cindy’s Mom. Her Mom was a roofer in the 1970’s. Then she became a crab and tuna fisherman in the Alaskan State Coastline until 1988 when she joined the god-dam Marines. She beat her 7th husband with the rubber end of a toilet plunger 6 years ago! And claimed self defense—when he died from massive contusions two days later—and was acquitted!!
Cindy was sitting there complaining that the car smells like smoke because I smoke in the car when I shouldn’t. I was wondering how I should brake the news to her when I suddenly realized I had no brakes!
(“brake” the news to her I did!)
“Honey, we have no brakes.” I said calmly.
Apparently, filling the master cylinder with brake fluid is the one thing Cindy never asked me to do.
She’s not a mechanic.
Before she could even bellow, I saw a lake and drove right into it! I looked behind me—the fire was out and smoldering. Then she started bellowing in a language I never heard of: Something between Chinese and chimpanzee.
Needless to say, I never rode her again—I never rode Cindy again either!
The point is, before you travel anywhere, if you smoke cigarettes, be sure to drain the master cylinder before you leave!
—ROBERT W.D.