If you know me - I mean r-e-a-l-l-y know me, then you are aware of my common moments of diarrhea of the mouth that I tend to get when I bare witness to acts of complete stupidity. Especially while driving.
I was that girl when I was 17, thinking I was pretty hot shit in my 88’ Chevy Beretta GT. I totally owned the road. After all, my dashboard thingy ma-jigger was digital. I was pretty badass, I’m not gonna lie. People were jealous.
(click picture to enlarge)
I was brought back to the reality of the dangers lurking on the road when my girlfriend and I decided to throw ourselves through the windshield of her Ford P.O.S. Wagon with the electronic seatbelts that didn’t work. You know? The ones that move on their own up and down the side of the car as if you are completely unable and too incompetent to ‘click’ a silver buckle into a plastic thingy?
Anyhow, some dumbass bimbo driving a Suburban* waived us out.
It was pouring down rain and we were trying to turn left out of a grocery store parking lot because, well, we were late for my ex-mother in law’s birthday and quite frankly it was going to be a bad night for all involved if we didn’t arrive bearing gifts. After all, nothing says “Happy Birthday” like grocery store boxed wine and a 99-cent bag of chocolates.
We were car dancing to Barbie Girl, smoking, laughing and carrying on when my girlfriend gassed it out of the parking lot. I looked right (like a good backseat driver should) and saw bright yellow headlights way too close for my comfort. I politely told my friend to hurry so we didn’t wreck by saying, “FUCK! CAR! GO GO GO!” At that moment I flipped my head left and saw another car, in much closer proximity.
It was too late. The last thing I saw was headlights. The first thing I saw after balling up into the fetal position and yelling out, “OOOOHHHH SSSHHHIIIITTTTTT!” was some random woman in my face asking if I was ‘Okay’.
Yes, as a matter of fact I was just thinking to myself, “Hey, can we please play kissyface with a small car? I so love the feel of the rain on my ass whilst wedged in a windshield”.
I couldn’t feel my legs and my friend was out in the middle of the street walking around screaming for a broom because she was appalled at the mess she made.
**Obvious signs of discombobulation
We had hit an elderly couple and they suffered minor injuries due to their seatbelts not being electronic. The firemen and police officers escorted my friend back to her car while I was being un-wedged. Chaos as we know it had begun.
I was placed on a board with my head strapped down by tape and I laid there helplessly while I had my skirt cut off of me in the middle of one of the busiest streets in my town. I do vaguely remember my friend passing out in the ambulance ride to the hospital. She wasn’t strapped down.
In the end, I only suffered a concussion and some nerve damage on the legs, and my friend had a pretty nasty concussion herself and a totaled car.
THIS. IS. WHY. I. LOATHE. DRIVING.
That day scarred me. It was over 10 years ago and I still cannot turn left out of a parking lot into on-coming traffic. I have a fear of low (to the ground), small cars and I freak out whenever I get cut off, followed too closely or have any sort of “close encounter” with inattentive drivers.
My friend? You ask? Oh she isn’t timid. As a matter of fact, she scares me the most. I actually had to backtrack the other day to find my female anatomy that was left in the street in lieu of practically defecating myself when she nearly side-swiped the poor Grandpa that was doing 50 on a highway.
I saw him. Driving. Fast. We were stopped. (At this juncture, you are supposed to ‘yield’ to oncoming traffic. I didn’t make that up. It’s the law here. To ALL drivers. Not just female ones.)
My friend goes.
Then says, “Oopsy, I didn’t see him.” Really? You didn’t see the bright red truck doing mach 10 down the highway? How could you not see him? Not only did I see him but also managed to pucker so tight I left a pinch mark on the passengers seat.
I’m the first person to defend a woman. Ask anyone. However, it has come to my conclusion that in the state I live in, women can’t drive. Not only can they not drive, they shouldn’t be allowed to drive anything bigger than a slugbug until they’ve had proper training or at least possess the ability to control the brake, gas and steering wheel in a kosher manner while not applying makeup, making phone calls, texting or anything that involves a mirror or the alphabet.
**Segue to what this post is really about**
Lowes parking lot.
Mr. Fricken Awesome and I were there again to purchase more accessories for our yard. Beings it was a Friday night and the parking lot was virtually empty, he decided to swing the truck around so the tail end was facing the aisle of the parking spot (rather than pulling straight forward).
(Please see exhibit below to fully appreciate and understand my complete frustration and case in point on why women should not drive without proper training)
Directly across from us there were 4 handicap parking spots separated by very large you’d have to be blind to not see them – yellow poles. Between the last pole and the sidewalk there was a small gap big enough for; A) a bicycle, B) a wheelchair or C) a very large Suburban.
**Hint: It starts with a “B” and ends with ‘cycle’.
So we are in the process of turning around in the parking lot to grab one of the 300 empty spots and out of nowhere this Suburban* jumps the sidewalk, blazes through the handicap spots and pulls directly into the EXACT spot we were pulling into. It happened so fast I was sitting in the passengers seat, completely unable to pull my mouth closed.
I cannot even fathom what just happened. I saw it. I witnessed it. I was there. Minding my own damn business. Would getting out and lighting her up one side and down the other have done a bit of good? Nooooooo. Mr. Fricken Awesome calmly lit me a smoke and allowed me to tell her off in the cab of our truck. A little bit of role-playing I guess. I was the completely un-glued passenger and he was the ignorant, brazen, poor excuse for a driver, brain-dead incompetent woman who should not be behind the wheel of anything other than a dead-bolted pirates wheel that you see on the playgrounds.
I said (in my out loud voice with the windows down), “Have you lost your damn mind? A sidewalk? A fricken sidewalk? Are. You. Serious? Are you fricken serious? That did not just happen. Who in the (lots of very bad words) do you think you are? THIS. IS. WHY. WOMEN. GET. A. BAD. REP!!!!! It’s people like YOU (lady who can’t hear me) who drive like you are the only one paying taxes! Did that just happen? Did I really just see her drive on the SIDEWALK? Oh. My. God!”
**takes drag of cigarette
“She’s not even MOVING! She’s sitting in her (more very bad words) truck talking on the damn cell phone! A sidewalk? SHE. DROVE. ON. THE. SIDEWALK!!”
**flicks cigarette with force
Mr. Fricken Awesome chuckled.
I’m missing the part where this was funny. I wasn’t allowed to play. Mr. Fricken Awesome likes to look out for me and not let me enter any danger zone while hungry and
menstrual tired. He prohibited me from exiting the vehicle until I had exuded all of my hot air.
He asked if I was going to make a scene inside and I promised I would be on my very best behavior.
Even though I wanted to walk up behind her with my steel cart that I can barely maneuver and “accidentally” run her over while texting. Heifer.
“OOhh, did I hurt you? I’m sorry, I soooo did not even see you there. Damn. My bad.”
There is no moral to this story. Unless I’m missing a moral somewhere that involves dumb girls who drive too-big-for-their-britches vehicles.
It’s just what I do. I point out the obvious futility lurking and I vent.
*I have nothing against people who drive Suburbans, however I find it kinda ironic that in both instances there was a dumb woman and a Suburban involved.