This thread reminds me of a particular simpleton that discovered the meaning of “poetic justice” on California Highway 18.
A number of years back my brother and I experienced a similar situation while driving up to Big Bear. It was a regular drive for us, as we had a cabin up there, and we knew the roads extremely well.
Seems there was pipsqueek teenager who thought it was funny to ride peoples’ bumpers and honk the horn incessantly. When it came time to pass, this twerp would hang back until the last second, zip past and cut in, causing the driver he cut off to stand on the brakes to avoid hitting him.
After a while of watching this happen in my rear view mirror, it was now my turn to be “the sap.” As he honked the horn and flipped me off I slowed down very gradually–a line of cars was building up as my brother asked me what I was up to.
Interestingly enough, they were a bit on the POed side at him and would probably be more than happy to help me with the surprise I had in store for him. I filled my brother in on what I had in mind. He snickered and turned red nodding his head affirmatively.
The passing lane (the last one before Snow Valley) was coming up and I could see him craning his neck to see when the lane actually developed for his next move in his “master plan.” “Go for it putz!”
As soon as there was an actual lane for him to move into, he swung his vehicle to my right and paced me door handle to door handle. I continued slowing slightly, and he continued his antics, much to his own entertainment. The line of cars behind me was now VERY LONG, and not a single car was behind his–great, no innocent victims. My brother made sure that he was the only occupant and kept me updated on his position.
When it came time for him to dodge in front of me, he found that my vehicle was no longer slowing. He tried to edge up as the lane began narrowing, but the van I was driving was “built to the hilt,” and it was no problem to keep just enough ahead of him that his cutting me off was going to be nearly impossible without a panicked stomp on the accelerator. The line of cars behind me was cooperating with me nicely–he couldn’t have fit in between any of them, even if he had a shoehorn and grease.
My brother hit my shoulder when he stomped on the accelerator. I ratcheted down the accelerator a bit and could hear him honking the horn. My brother said that he was waving at me wildly. I matched his speed and kept him on my rear quarter–the line of cars kept up with me. He was sunk.
No more lane, a few trees and a slight embankment–or he could use his brakes.
He chose the embankment and a particularly sturdy looking pine tree.
We, along with a few of the other drivers, turned off into Snow Valley’s parking lot and parked. Looking toward the road, we could see his wrecked vehicle (just inside the property line of Snow Valley Ski Area). Steam was pouring from the front of the vehicle.
We walked over to make sure he wasn’t hurt and discovered that he did try to lay on the brakes, but there was quite a bit of gravel on the shoulder of the road. He slowed just enough to avoid injuring himself. It was the car that was hurting–a Fiat Spyder.
Turns out it was his daddy’s car and he wasn’t supposed to be driving it at all, much less in the mountains. He was frantic, and we saw why…the dealer sticker was still taped to the inside of the cracked windshield.
We shook his hand, slapped him on the back and laughed our proverbial asses off at him. We laughingly wished him “good luck,” and really rubbed it in by saying that his daddy was going to kill him “ten times over every day for the next year.”
We settled up with the CHP officer that arrived, and it went down the way it truthfully happened. The officer wrote it up as operator error, and had himself a good laugh at the kid’s expense.
Almost 20 years later, My brother and I still laugh about the whole thing, but I know that I wouldn’t set someone up like that again–too easy to do, given the over abundance of idiots on the road; and too dangerous if things don’t go as planned.
No flames please. He deserved it and what’s done is done.
The pine tree survived the ordeal and is flourishing to this very day.
Common ¢ for all ages…
“Well, there was that thing with the Cheese-Wiz…but I’m feeling much better now!” – John Astin, Night Court
“If ignorance is bliss, you must be orgasmic.”