Fiber Follies

Dear Mr. Mean Guy who drives a red Ford Expedition, tag # 2004WS:

Did you have a bad day? Are you normally arrogant? Is that how you usually drive? And was it necessary to act as you did?

You flew up into my rear view. I was driving at the posted limit, my travel cat in the cab. We enjoyed our ride til you came along. I continued my drive as you got closer and closer, scaring the heck out of me. I thought maybe you were distracted, so I waved in a kind of “shoo” motion, in hope you’d see it and catch yourself. Nope. YOU sped UP, til you ticked my rear bumper. Nice. That made the whole car shudder, scaring the cat. Heck, it scared me too! I slowed then and you kept on with your aggressive idiocy, ticking me once more and scaring us terribly. Finally you decided to pass. I’d hoped you’d see that I wasn’t alone, that there was an innocent riding with me, but you didn’t care. I attempted to point him out to you, but you wouldn’t even look where I pointed. You’re clearly the most important thing existing. Then you threw something at my car! No damages, whatever you threw MISSED. I rang the police and followed you a few miles past my turn while speaking with them then gave up, and told them I was going home. Police weren’t going to do anything. They cheerfully took your tag # and vehicle description and had me trail you with no intention of following up. You knew that. You get away with stuff like this all the time.

I noticed that you picked a person who is physically littler than you. I noticed that the car I was driving is much littler than your great honkin Eddie Bauer Red Ford Expedition.

Would you dare to pick on someone your own size?

Well. You can’t ruin my day. My cat and I are home safe in spite of you. You’ll carry on with your nastiness until you actually hurt someone. I hope you can live with yourself. I have the fun of putting this incident on my blog. I do love to write about my everyday existence.

Oh. Are you not aware that a license tag is a form of identification?

You can scare me all you want on the road but the last thing I will do before the crash is take a picture of you aiming at me. Then, maybe, I’ll forgive you. I’m supposed to, you see. I guess it’s pointless to exit life with a grudge on. So. I forgive you this very minute for making my drive toward home so frightening. I forgive you for scaring my cat too. He may not forgive you though. He may have lost his delight in car rides because you were mean to us.

Yep. It takes a big important guy like you to frighten a woman and a cat.

Fancy awakening to see this:
What the..? Who would..? When? Come ON! Why? I couldn’t believe what I saw. From the house all I could see were ground-up snow and mud, so assumed it was some nasty snowmobile operator. Over the years we’d had no end of troubles from snowmobile operators. A few of the bunch were always running their sleds all over the property, smashing plants and trees and whatever was there to strike. They even tore through the soft rope-and-sign barriers I’d put up, intending to keep them from running across more than six or seven meters inside the property boundaries. This allowed them to be safely off the highway while sparing my lawn and gardens. I’d guess about one in twenty operators are careless, but that one of twenty can cause a LOT of damage. Filing police reports was useless. Then we had a year with practically no snow. I, though relieved, was sorry that the snowmobile operators had no snow. Another fairly dry year followed. But the past two years I have had little reason to complain. We’ve had some fair snowpacks, too. The operators kept to a tight path along the road and only very rarely ventured into the property. So, for the first time I was enjoying a winter of watching the snowmobiles run down the road and into fields across the highway. I can hear them running, sometimes quite late into the night though usually most are done racing about before midnight. Anyway, looking from the kitchen window, all I saw were muddy snow tracks all over one sizable chunk of the yard. I though I’d gotten my entire winter’s quota of “one in twenties” sometime the previous night.

A little later I strolled out with camera at ready. It was then that I realised that snowmobiles had not cause the damages, which were worse than thought. The tracks are from truck tires. Holy Moleyo, someone did a lawn job! Not only that, but one of my trees, which I’d raised from a seedling, had been slammed, the “No Trespassing” sign in front of it shattered along with limbs off the tree. I was crushed–and angry. I rang the sheriff. Within a few short minutes a cruiser had arrived. The sheriff explained that they’d already handled this! The best I can remember follows. Bear in mind that the tale is so darn strange my mind may have failed to wrap around a few things.

Around midnight, an extremely intoxicated man forgot to remain on the road and drove well into my lawn. He spent some serious effort gunning the motor trying to get away. All efforts failed. Mr. Extremely Intoxicated Driver happened to be accompanied by an extremely intoxicated passenger, who we’ll call Mr. Extremely Intoxicated Passenger. Anyway, Mr. Extremely Intoxicated Passenger became most helpful, stepping out of the truck to help push it out of the mud and up the long slope leading to the road. Seems he pushed and pushed, though the truck refused to go anywhere but further into the yard. He changed tactics, apparently deciding that if he pushed from the driver’s side of the truck he’d manage to shove it right into the road. At this point, Mr. Extremely Intoxicated Driver threw open the driver’s side door, laying Mr. Extremely Intoxicated Passenger out in lavender. When Mr. Extremely Intoxicated Passenger regained some sensibility and tried to stand, Mr. Extremely Intoxicated Driver threw open his door again! Ack! Eventually the Extremely Intoxicated Duo hobbled off on foot, leaving their truck in the snowy grass and mud.

Later, sheriffs in the next county received a domestic disturbance call. Turns out that Mr. Extremely Intoxicated Driver managed to find his way home and proceeded to ensnarl himself in a mighty quarrel with his girlfriend. By this time passers-by had noticed the truck so oddly parked in our yard and rang the local sheriff. Now it’s roughly 4 a.m., when even I am down for the count and unlikely to respond to anything shy of very powerful coffee held immediately under my nose. The Husband had nodded off on the sofa while watching television and was also clearly unavailable when the sheriffs pounded on our door trying to waken us so we’d be aware of the situation. Not receiving a response, they shrugged, called a tow truck and hauled Mr. Extremely Intoxicated Driver’s truck off, leaving the muffler and all the mess behind.

Mr. Extremely Intoxicated Driver has been issued tickets for several violations. He had driven while intoxicated, he left the scene of personal injury, he left the scene of a property damage incident, and surely a few others.  He may have got tickets for disorderly conduct with his girlfriend too.

I wonder if he remembers any of this?

And what’s become of Mr. Extremely Intoxicated Passenger? Seems he got his bell rung hard. Where is he today? Does he have a headache or did his intoxicated state lessen the pain? I picture him wandering aimlessly, unsure who he is and wondering why his noggin hurts so.