I’m sorry…really, I am. If there were any way I could make this situation different, I’d do so without hesitation. It’s completely unfair to you and everyone who has ever had any interaction with you that this has to be the case. If I could wave my hand and undo the circumstances which lead us to this point, please believe that I would do so – no reservations here, it’d be done. But I can’t, and I’m sorry.
Truly. I’m really very, very sorry.
There, I feel better now. But let’s step back a moment, shall we? Welcome to my town. Now, let’s take a quick look over here where we have the main drag, running from the residential area in which I live (to the south) to the business district (to the north). As you can see, it’s a bit of a slow-moving road, with a speed limit that goes from 25 up to 30 as you get nearer to the business district.
So, as I was heading along this fine, shaded thoroughfare with it’s lovely Victorian homes dating back to the American Revolution, a young lass in her new Jetta came driving up behind me. Now, as is my wont to do, I was going just a bit over the speed limit – roughly 35 in the 30 zone. However, this was apparently nowhere need quick enough for this young lady. It occurred to me that she may be one of these super-genius young people you occasionally hear about, who at age 22 became a world-renown surgeon and was at this very moment trying to speed to the hospital to save the life of small child. However, the hospital was in the other direction, so I dismissed that idea. Still, she was leaving a space roughly the thickness of a dollar bill between our bumpers, so she must’ve had some kind of urgent matter to take care of.
Now, as one continues up this street, one soon gets to the business district. As you can see, once you arrive here the lanes open up and the speed limit increases. As we headed north, I was really beginning to look forward to arriving in this area – after all, on my tail I either had a young undercover officer who had just commandeered a citizen’s car (thereby explaining the lack of lights and sirens) on her way to help a fellow officer who needed backup right this second, or a fucking moron who got her license from Joe’s Pull-'Em-Out-Yer-Ass Drivers License Boutique And Feed Shop a half-hour ago.
Either way, I wanted her off my ass.
Now, as you saw above, the road widens. If you remain in the lane you’ve been in the whole time, you will find yourself in the left lane after said widening. If you’re a considerate driver, you will pull to the right when you get here and let faster traffic, potential undercover cops, or fucking morons pass you. I did not do this.
It wasn’t that I was being inconsiderate – it’s because immediately after that split, there is a bus stop on the right. There is no shoulder to speak of, so the bus stops square in the middle of the right-hand lane. It’s not really a danger, because…well…it’s a bus. It’s fricking huge. It’s a vehicle specifically designed to hold, what, 60-70 people or so? That’s a lot of people, and it’s a lot of vehicle. Who wouldn’t see that sitting in your lane?
My intention was to stay in the left-hand lane, pass the bus, and then pull into the right lane so Danica could go on her merry way. She would have none of this silliness, however. No, as soon as we got to the split, she whipped into the right lane and gunned it. Now, I’m far from free of having done foolish things in my life. But when I die and I get to read the “Facts, Stats & Figures” book on my life (and I desperately hope that that’s something you actually get), I do know that the “Dumb Stuff You Did” list will be free and clear of anything resembling “gunned the engine when you were 15 feet from a NJ Transit bus”.
Now, I know what’s coming – she’s not going to be able to stop, so there are only three places she can go. From right to left, there’s 1) up onto the sidewalk and into a telephone pole, 2) into the ass end of the bus, or 3) right into the side of my car. Did I mention that I’ve owned this car less than a week? Uh uh, no fricking way are you hitting my car. Fortunately, there wasn’t any oncoming traffic for a few hundred feet, so I cut into the wrong side of the road, hoping she’d choose the path of least resistance.
She chose right, but she chose slowly. She managed to juuust about make it around the bus, but <crackrip!>, there went her passenger side mirror. She slowed and got into the right lane; I got back into my preferred, non-head-on-collision lane, and kept going. I had no dog in this one, and wasn’t going to dawdle about for no reason. And apparently, neither was she (ignoring the “no reason” part in her case, of course).
Three hundred feet up the road, traffic was backed up from a nearby light. I sat in my lane, when 'lo, Ms. One-Mirror comes screeching up next to me. She rolls down her window and lets me have it. Apparently, I’m a fucking asshole. It would seem I have no fucking clue how to operate a motor vehicle. The capper was that I was the one to blame for “almost” making her hit the bus. Hmmm…one moment, please:
Almost hit the bus. Mmmm, no, sorry Sweetheart, that’s where you’re mistaken. You did hit the bus. There is a bus driver a few hundred feet back hastily scribbling down your license plate number, and when the cops come, he’s going to hand them your side-view mirror as some pretty compelling evidence.
As she wound down her tirade, I simply stared at her. I mean, what am I to do, yell and scream back at her? I’m basically an even-keeled guy – it takes a lot to set me off, and she wasn’t getting close. But then she said it:
“Aren’t you even going to say you’re sorry?”
Why yes, now that you mention it – I’m quite sorry that you apparently only have about a half-dozen brain cells rolling around using Yahoo Maps (on dial-up, natch) to try and find each other in that skull of yours. I’m sorry that you were ever granted a drivers license (if that’s even the case). And I’m really, truthfully sorry that you seem to be incapable of noticing 16 tons of metal right in front of your fucking face until it’s too late.
Really, I’m sorry…