Road Runner

Today, I finally made the long drive home to the Delta. I thought leaving at 9:30A.M. would allow me to skip the lunchtime traffic in Jackson, MS. Yes, I missed it. But I didn’t miss the crazy people.

You know. The people who cut you off. Who speed up and slow down too much. Who, aren’t driving but, running across the interstate. Who drive log trucks and have no idea where they’re swingin’ those things.

Why does this always happen to me? I always witness crazy drivers and then yell at them from my sealed and locked car, of course. They always invade my personal bubble of travel, which must have a tracking device because how else do they always find me? Always.

I turned onto Highway 49 North like any other trip home. I passed the Hudson’s Treasure Hunt Warehouse, and a 2012 Steel Blue Metallic Jeep Wrangler appears in my rear view mirror. I move to the far lane so that this anxious driver could pass. The car proceeds to stay in close view as soon as it passes me.

Are you serious? If you’re going to pass me, go away. Far away. Not right in front of me.

Not only does it stay right in front of me, but it also swerves. And swerves. And swerves. I winced every time I saw the wheels pass the yellow border, and I could only imagine the noise that possibly woke up the driver.

What are you doing?…Are you texting? Trying to drink your coffee? Putting on lipstick? Dealing with wrestling children in your backseat? Setting up a Miracle-Gro plant in your passenger seat? All of the above? What is the problem?

From this moment, I made it my mission to speed as far away from this car as I could. I’ve only had one accident in my five years of independent driving; this idiot was not about to cause my second.

As I approached Mendenhall, MS, I assured that I was far ahead of the road runner. Safety at last!

However, I did catch a glance of this maniac. She looked a little like me. Maybe an older version of myself. Let’s call her Roxy. Roxy wore huge glasses that should only be worn by clowns. Hair was ironed straight as a board. Nice attire perhaps? I mind you my car sits much lower than hers so I don’t know specifics of her fashion choices.

Roxy did not seem to be wrestling Tasmanian Devils in the front or back seat, nor was she opening an “As Seen On TV” plant box. She actually had two hands on the wheel and was looking forward. What? Then why were you consistently running off the road? Unless… she’s just a damn awful driver. That’s it.

So now, that Roxy is behind us… Let’s breathe. Keep listening to Maroon 5 and just breathe…

I traveled another 15 miles or so, and I came to one of my checkpoints, the exit to my sister’s house. I had to stop at the light and got caught at the end of the line. As I’m waiting for this light to hurry up and blink green, Roxy appears. She speeds into my lane, the shorter of the two, and causes an abrupt stop, probably one foot from my bumper. Her grill was practically waiting to nom on my back seats, so like any scared puppy, I inched forward. The light turned green, but the 18-wheeler in front of me made it terribly difficult to run away from Roxy. Oblivious to my wish to escape, she followed as close as ever.

And then Jesus heard my prayer. She turned off Hwy 49 into… Waffle House. It all makes sense! She’s one of the walking tragedies that are basically on shift at every Waffle House. I should have known.

Hallelujah, I have been saved!

Well, Roxy irritated me, but I know she’ll bring a lot of joy to the customers of Waffle House. Maybe they’ll hear her talk obnoxiously about her “oh so traumatic” life, or see her dance on a table, or make the entire staff quit because she’s so displeased with her scrambled eggs. I don’t know what Roxy was up to, and I guess I don’t really care anymore because I’m safe at home in bed and away from her.

Beep. Beep.

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