i posted this on myspace a couple of years ago, and here it is again per liz's request. i spend too much time in my car! (and, reading my last couple of posts, could stand to clean up my language a bit.)
a few months ago (around christmas maybe? definitely before boot camp -- see food choice for proof), i was driving back to atlanta from the parents' in south cackylacky. my mom always tries to shove food down my throat as i'm leaving, but i always say no since the whole production of going through the refrigerator to list any and all of the selections, picking something, preparing it, finding other side items to go along with it, and actually sitting down to do the eating would result in my getting on the road around midnight -- no matter what time the whole process began. it's about a 3-hour drive, so on this particular night i started feeling the hunger pangs around the state line, and my little head could focus on NOTHING else besides a mcdonald's filet-o-fish by the time i reached washington road in augusta.
not being all that familiar with the area, i missed the turn and ended up taking a left just a few feet past a traffic light, at a rather nasty little intersection. this truck pulled up RIGHT behind me and stared honking its horn. okay, i thought -- i'll pull up a little so he can go around me. the truck pulled up with me, millimeters from my bumper, and continued to sit on his horn.
now here is where an important lesson comes in: NOBODY gets between me and food. when that blood sugar dips, i am a nasty person to be around, and most people around me know to just administer the IV of fully-leaded, original recipe coca-cola straight to my veins, and soon i will return to human form. straw polls i've taken through the years tell me i'm not the only one like this, and most humans of the female persuasion have similar reactions to low blood sugar crises. dude in the truck did not get that memo.
i wanted to turn into that damned mcdonald's just as badly as truck man did, believe you me. the shining beacon of all things fried and unholy was gleaming just to my left, just taunting me, as all of these stupid cars just kept on coming. and dude just sat on his horn, attached to my little VW bumper. so i did what would be expected of me in this crisis: i turned around, looked straight at him, extended my arm as far as it would go -- with one finger held skyward -- and loudly enunciated, "FUCK. YOU."
and then i turned in to the mcdonald's. everything was going to be all right.
so i gave my order (mmmmmm filet-o-fish and coke), paid at the first window, and looked up to proceed to the manna-distribution window. and there he was. this beat-up, piece o'crap old blue chevy truck, right next to my car. with a nasty, 50's-ish redneck, mesh hat, chewing tobacco, nasty teeth and all, leaning out of the window, STARING at me.
i moved up a little, thinking he'd go away. he moved up right alongside. i kind of sat there between the two windows, dumbfounded. if you can stun me enough that i'm not even going to go get my food, you've really gotten me. redneck dude leaned out of his window, extended that same finger i had shown him earlier, and drawled, "NAW, FUUUUCK YEEEEW!"
he drove away, i proceeded to the food window, and the highschool girl holding my filet-o-fish bag at the checkout was pretty freaked out. she wordlessly handed me the bag, eyes wide, surely wondering what i had done to warrant such a display. i mustered a comment to assure her i'm not as big an a-hole as dude, took the bag in my shaking hands and drove away. i took a sip of my coke, felt my humanity return a little, and figured i should get out of there asap.
i went around to the stoplight (where i now know i should have turned earlier), and who was in front of me but that damned blue truck. so i called M's cell and shakily left the following message: "uh, if i don't make it home tonight, write down this license plate number...". (not even thinking, of course, that that is probably NOT the message that one's fiance wants to hear on his voicemail, but i digress....)
when i looked over and saw that the truck had a bumper sticker. a bumper sticker with a pair of prayer hands that says, "Pray the Rosary."
actually, i think i was over all shock by this point. so i rolled down my window, put my little prayer hands out, and started yelling over and over, "PRAY THE ROSARY! YOU PRAY THAT ROSARY!!!"
like you didn't know i'm going to hell.
i called my friend K, the super-devout catholic with the sick sense of humor, to tell her the story, but that call went to voicemail, too. when she called back later that night, i found out why her phone was off: she was at mass. praying the rosary.