Today has certainly been an interesting day. As some of you may know, and many do not, several months ago I was in a pretty bad accident. An elderly woman passed out at the wheel and hit me at high speed in the rear. I’m not really sure what happened other than a huge bang, some fuzziness and then coming to in my truck seat wondering what the hell had just happened.
It took months for the truck to be repaired, even longer for me. But thankfully both are in fine condition.
Or. Make that…………WERE.
My job entails a lot of driving. A lot. So I am exposed to all sorts of things. People pulling out in front of me, drunk drivers, text and weavers, general bad drivers, etc. But today was truly a surprise. I pulled out of my drive. Took one turn. Headed for the exit to the neighborhood. I was literally less than thirty seconds from my house.
As I approached a stop sign before entering the main thoroughfare I noticed the vehicle ahead of me approaching me in reverse. Naturally I stopped and evaluated the situation wondering what was going on. Apparently they were attempting something though what it was, I still had no idea. The closer the vehicle came the more apparent it became that they had no intention on stopping, nor could I see any indication that they knew I was there. So, I placed both hands on the horn and furiously honked. No response. Then I saw it.
The blue mound of hair piled high, peeking over the headrest. And it hit me.
No……………Literally, It. Hit. Me.
This cannot be happening!!!!! my mind screamed in disbelief. You’ve had those moments. When the incredulity of what you’re witnessing freezes you momentarily as your eyes send signals to a brain that is fervently denying such a possibility. Then, reality arrived.
Reality, if you wondered is gray, and makes a horrendous bang and crunch when it slams into the front of your vehicle. And smells like a weird mixture of denture cream, Ben-gay and polyester.
Attached to the front of my recently repainted, rebumpered, reassembled, rebuilt beautiful truck was a Honda with a seemingly oblivious elderly woman seated at the wheel, looking around in feigned surprise.
As I stood looking woefully at my now (AGAIN!!!) bashed in front end, shaking my head in disbelief, I rapidly calculated the odds of being hit twice in the same year by little old ladies. I’m pretty good at math and near as I can figure the odds are about the same as Ben Affleck becoming a credible actor.
Naturally, my first instinct was to check on the well being of the other driver, though it should be noted that this was closely (very) followed by the intense desire to look up into the sky screaming why! WHY!! until paramedics arrived and took me away for a well deserved and well medicated ‘retreat’.
But being the noble soul I am, I chose the high road and went to check on the other driver, who sat befuddled and somewhat shocked that someone else actually used the same road as her. As I stood listening to her explain calmly and coolly question me as to what happened I had an epiphany.
No dice lady, I am onto your group now.
Apparently someone wants me taken out. Someone with a rather small budget. And apparently, in today’s rough economy, little old ladies are supplementing their Social Security checks with ‘wet work’. (I read Robert Ludlum novels, I am no stranger to spycraft, thank you very much). What I don’t know is why they want me eliminated.
Did I pick up the wrong sack at McDonald’s and accidentally swallow some microfilm? No, I imagine microfilm tastes better than a McDonald’s hamburger, I’d have noticed.
Have I accidentally photographed something I shouldn’t? Could have been those squirrels!
Did the concussion from the first accident leave me unaware that I had led a previous life as an espionage agent? NO, I don’t own a trench coat.
I truthfully don’t know what it is. But there’s no denying that every time I see a little old lady now I flinch and reach for something defensive. A universal sign of good will and tenderness is now dead to me. And each time an older neighborhood woman drops off cookies I’m going to have to let the dog eat one and observe him for twenty four hours or so.
I really don’t know what I’ve done. Maybe in the future I run for President and slash Social Security and the AARP has sent back elderly Terminators to silence me before I can realize my thus far unimagined dream.
All I know is I’d like a truce. I’ve fought a lot in the last year or two. Some things I expected, many I did not. And chief among them is a legion of elderly drivers doing their level best to destroy me.
Back off granny.