If you’re a regular reader of this Blog, you know that I recently published a Blog called “Daytime Drivers.” Your collective response would imply that it resonated with more than a few of you. Clearly, dealing with daytime drivers is not relegated to me alone and today it became clear that, for me, it’s not an isolated event. The latest incident occurred as I was driving back from the mall after getting my wife’s watch re-sized. (By the way, when did the employees manning the various kiosks in the mall thoroughfares become so aggressive? It’s like Mexico. For the record, if I require a new cell phone plan, wool-lined boots, lotion or a tee shirt airbrushed with a picture of someone else’s kids, trust me, I’ll stop.)
As I was driving home, basking in the glow of my successful errand, I admit I may have been daydreaming a little. Whenever a man does something to make his wife happy as opposed to making her roll her eyes at his latest bonehead manuever, he likes to savor the hypothetical moment and roll it around in his cerebral cortex for a spell. It was while I was entertaining such thoughts when a woman in a red Honda Civic roused me from my reverie by cutting me off and narrowly missing my front right bumper. In her defense, it was at a fork in the freeway, and had she not cut me off, the freeway might have taken her all the way to Chicago where she would have no choice but to live, never to see her loved ones again.
Nevertheless, I was obliged to inform her of my presence and displeasure by sounding an annoyed blast from the horn of my Ford Focus. What with the “Big Three” in financial trouble and the quality of their products in question, I also saw it as an opportunity to flex a little American Automotive Muscle. “Hey! You in the Honda! Ford Motor Company comin’ through!” With one hand I gripped the wheel as I slammed the other down on the center of the steering wheel. I don’t know if, in print, I can do justice the sound that resulted, but I would be remiss if I didn’t try. Instead of a majestic blast, what followed sounded exactly like: “Phhhmmeeep-p-peeee-p.”
If I was a male quail trying to attract a mate with my clarion call, I would be fox poop by the end of the day. It was the same sound of protest made by a scrawny Freshman right before the football team pantsed him and stuffed him in a locker. Needless to say, she didn’t even cast a glance into her rear-view mirror.
If there’s one lesson that I learned from this encounter it’s this: Before you take your Ford Focus out for a spin, make sure it’s Road Ready in case you run across a Daytime Driver (or, more specifically, a Daytime Driver runs across you). Check the car’s fluid levels and tire pressure and for God’s sake, if you have to use the horn, make sure you have its inhaler.