Winding Roads, Feeble Drivers

So, I packed a bag this morning and had grand plans to drive to the gym right after school this afternoon. I was ready. I haven’t been on the elliptical for a month now, and was excited to get back into my exercise regiment. But, alas, it was not to happen.

After school, I changed in the teacher’s bathroom, put my hair back in a ponytail, and I was off to Healthplex. Just the thought of going put a spring in my step. Or I just liked the feel of my ponytail swishing back and forth with each perky step. I know myself, and if I drive home right after school, the chances of me going to the gym are slim. Once I sit down, I’m done. I haven’t even been walking on the Rails to Trails. And it is seriously right outside my apartment. So, I was ready.

I hopped in the car, pulled out onto the main road and looked at my watch. It was 3:45. I should be at Healthplex in 30-35 minutes. I got behind a school bus and about 5 other cars, which is normal every day. No biggie. The bus driver is great and pulls over after about 2 stops and lets the traffic go by. I wave to thank him every day and then I am off. But, wait. Why is this goldish Buick not speeding up? The bus just pulled over for us.

Dear God, I couldn’t see anyone driving. That only meant one thing- Old Lady Driver. And it was. And she had an even older, shorter woman as her passenger. She was driving about 10-20 miles per hour and almost came to a stop every time a car came toward her. Are you kidding me? It was a winding road and too narrow for her liking.

The old lady had her foot on the brake all the way down the hills. I guess she thought there were some icy patches on the road…in October. I am a patient person, but the speed limit is 40, and I think people are obliged to drive the speed limit. I don’t think she saw the 25 cars behind her. Every time there was a place to pass, there was someone coming in the opposite direction.

I started talking  to her. Yes, I realize that she could not hear me, but I needed to start ranting. Some of the things that were coming out of my mouth were-

“I bet you’re going to Walmart to get cat food, right?”

“Oh, Dear God, lady, pull over and adjust your pace maker.”

“Figures….Are you freaking kidding me?…….Do not turn right…Do NOT turn right…..Shit…Figures….Of course you’re turning right.”

“Don’t you see me? I can see right up your nose , I am so close to you. Speed, up, damn you, old lady.”

“Freakin turtle………………..”

“Don’t even turn left!!!!  Shit…….I am going to hit you!….I should hit you….and bump you out of the freakin road and into that cow pasture….How would you like that?”

“Come on!!! It’s 4:00..Why the hell are you out this late anywho?  It’s going to be dark by the time you get to Walmart and drive back home……Shit, it will be midnight…Come onnnnnn!”

I am sure the person who was behind me was highly amused. I didn’t even look in my rear view mirror to see if it was a fellow teacher or anyone I knew. It was probably one of my student’s parents, laughing at my venting. Vickie venting. I had one hand on the wheel and was talking with the other like I was Italian. I thought the old lady would get the hint and pull over. Then it dawned on me. She wouldn’t be able to look in the rear view mirror, because that would make her drive off the road. She never used her mirrors once. Her eyes were above the steering wheel looking straight ahead. She wasn’t even talking to her passenger. Maybe her passenger was dead.

My rant continued for 30 minutes. ” Freaking Blue-Haired Turtle, pull over!!! She went my entire route. I just knew she was going to Walmart. She never went over 20 miles per hour the entire drive. I was thinking that it would be amusing if she flipped me the bird as I passed her, but she didn’t.  I would have flipped me off. I was right on her butt the entire drive. She had to know I was behind her.

Well, I was quite mad  by the time I pulled into the Healthplex parking lot. And the parking lot was about full. So, I just parked and sat there for a second, and then said, “Shit.”  I was spent. I was done. I had no desire to punish myself on the elliptical. I could have taken my frustrations out on the machine, but I just wasn’t feeling it. I didn’t even turn off the car. I was pissed.

When you are that mad, there is only one thing you can do….

I went through McDonald’s, ordered a Quarter Pounder with Cheese meal and drove home.

And I am too mad to write a blog this evening.

Mr. Magoo on Crack

When you marry the person you love, you marry the good and the bad. You promise to honor and obey. (Traditional wedding vows were the norm when we got married, damnit.) But, nowhere did it say that I had to ride in a car with my husband.  I call my now ex, Mr. Magoo to his face, so that’s not a secret.  “Buckle Up and Close your eyes” would be an appropriate phrase.

Magoo is the worst driver in the world.  (Sorry for the exaggeration. I am sure there are worse drivers in Outer Mongolia, where ever the hell that is.)  He drives into the direction he is looking.  Sure, people need to have their eyes on the road at all times, but not Magoo. Countless times he would point and say, “Look at that, Vickie” and then drive in that direction. I would answer, “I can’t, Jay, someone has to drive..”  But, if I hadn’t screamed numerous times, I think we would have taken out countless mailboxes through the years.  He would get mad at me for making a “We are surely going to die” noise each time.  I guess he wanted me to say, “Golly gee, Jay, there is a mailbox coming into our windshield. Oh, look, the post has impaled me,”  instead of screaming. I rode with my arm holding onto the strap by the door and one foot on my imaginary brake.  He is one of those drivers who ride up to a red light and then come to a quick bumpy stop, the kind of stop that feels like the back of the car is going up into the air a few feet.  He does this, instead of slowing the acceleration and taking his foot off the gas and slowly applying the brake. (page 43)

I hated the thought of the Washington-DC beltway to get to Ocean City because Magoo loved speeding and jumping lanes without looking to see who was beside him. He had his seatbelt on, after all, and that made him invincible. I literally cried every time we went on that stupid beltway. Oh, yes, I tried to drive it, to lessen my need for a drink, but Magoo shouted out commands, “Get in the right lane. Now… Now Vickie… Vickie…Get in the right lane… Vickie….Vickie…NOW…Shit…You waited too long. You almost hit that guy. Do you want me to drive? “

Since I was the co-pilot, I decided to find a route so we wouldn’t have to go on the beltway. It was called the, “We are Now Going to Myrtle Beach” route. The first year or two we would go around Charlotte, North Carolina, which had a string of red lights and a speed limit of -25mph. He did not like this road Sam I am.  So, I found back roads that took us by South of the Border. But, Magoo could not obey speed limits. Not when he had an ocean waiting for him. When we entered the town of Latta, I told him, “You need to slow down. The speed limit is 25.” Magoo didn’t believe me. He sped up. And of course, a cop pulled us over. I think Alex started crying. But, that may have been me. I was so mad at him.   I did the quiet, “I’ll have the lobster”  and close the menu routine all week.

Magoo had a 1977 MGB that I rode in maybe 3 times. I called it the “Little Piss Ant”.   He tried to behave himself, but the top was down and now he could look straight up. He was loving a convertible.  “Maybe I will buy a motorcycle.”  “Well, you better buy more life insurance is all I can tell you,” was my rolling-pin wanna-be answer.  He couldn’t drive a motorcycle. Dear God, Magoo could wreck a stationary bike.

We are now divorced and I don’t drink so much anymore, but he invited me out on the river on his new Craig-Cat, which is like a catamaran.  Mr. Magoo on crack…on the water…Those poor kids on inner tubes…they are so dead.