While driving about with G in his big old car moving CB capable truck I got to see the inside of the trucker world. It was better than those shows where you go "inside a prison" and I am wicked into those. The trucker world is full of G rated, pop beat, top 40 music (what the fuck else are they going to do really?) and CB radio conversations. I am so glad to have gotten a peek into this world because now that I am little Miss drive in hellish traffic every day with nothing to do besides sleep (I have now fallen asleep behind the wheel so many times I am dubbing myself irresponsible and driving is the one area I am more often than not, responsible), rock out to awesome songs and make ring tones. I am soooo getting a CB radio! Breaker breaker 59! I have this dream where I become a CB legend and the day I am no longer heard over the airwaves trucks everywhere pull over and have a moment of silence. I need to figure out a handle for myself. While talking with G, I told him my dream (he's going to help me purchase and install this beauty) and he said he's all about the legend idea. I think we should go national quite frankly. I wanted to call myself West Coast and have him take the name East Coast and carve our way across the US when I head back west. He believes West Coast is probably all ready taken so I might just go with The JH. Normally my paranoia would never allow me to do such a thing so I wonder if I am being rash with this idea. It's my initials after all...
I saw the most awesome of traffic wars today. It involved a super tight one way residential street, traffic and you guessed it, a trash truck. I never get upset when I am stuck behind a trash truck. It's not like they are being spiteful and blocking the way just cause. They really are just doing their job, so I usually sit tight and smile brightly whenever they look in my direction. I promise you, bright smiles gets you past a trash truck far faster than a sneer or horn will any day. They're usually searching for a way to let me by after a while of my sickeningly sweet take your time and do your job without the added stress of having some unruly cunt mouth behind you smiles and gestures. Not today. Today was cunt mouth day. The mini van in front of me was tailgating the truck so closely that there were moments the trash guys couldn't get the trash receptacles behind the truck and therefor couldn't empty the trash out of them. I'm not sure what he thought that was going to accomplish but it made things really heat up. Then the chick behind me starts laying on her horn yelling at ME to drive my fucking car. I gave her the helpless both hands in the air shoulder shrug and she goes into a rage and tells me I should go fuck myself, to which I wholeheartedly agree with her about and tell her she apparently has an awesome response for everything. Oh! Done! She's livid! I'm laughing because holy shit who fucking cares, not to mention the minivan vs. trash truck is just getting started. The trash truck turns left onto yet another one way tight squeeze road. They are just about to back up when the minivan makes his move. He hammers the gas, fishtails around the back of the truck narrowly missing the poor dude giving the truck driver reverse instruction and smashes the minivan up onto the sidewalk to get around the truck. There is a dumpster ahead but there is just enough room where he can get in front of the truck. That is, until the truck pulls forward and blocks the pass. AWESOME! The minivan dude FREAKS THE FUCK OUT and while he's screaming about the trash truck being in his way the truck driver is verbally assaulting him like nothing I have ever heard. There was much mention of only homo fags drive minivans and the likes and the minivan driver was starting to chill out when his brain picked up on the 2 to 1 ratio and that he was blocked by said 2 people. Keep in mind that the huge gaping gash of a bitch behind me has continued to hit the horn and scream here and there. It was just the right mix of crazy to make it like I was hearing it in stereo. The highlight was when the truck ever so slowly backed up and out of the minivans way and the driver used the word "mooley" right before letting the minivan escape. It has been quite a while since I have heard that slang used appropriately. It's Italian slang and the driver was very very Italian. And the driver of the minivan had a dark skin tone. It was like the perfect ending to the perfect fight. Needless to say, I got to work euphoric.
I love traffic fights. I'm never in them anymore (I'm a happy driver now that I have contained the rage) but I do like watching them so I am stoked when one happens in close proximity. Maybe tomorrow will grant me another hate filled ride. I am crossing my fingers...
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I also love being in the mix but not being at fault. The other day I stopped to let someone cross the st, which enraged the driver behind me to such degrees that she made enough of a fuss to scare the pedestrian back to the sidewalk. I hung out trying to be encouraging for another 30 seconds or so but scared pedestrian wouldn't budge so I finally gave up and went on my way. As the driver of the car behind me passed me at the next intersection, she stopped to call me a tramp. Tramp! I haven't heard that in ages, it was just what I needed.
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