There is absolutely nothing I love more than getting stuck behind something like this when I’m already running late for work (and I’m always “already running late for work”):
But no, that’s not true. That’s not true, because what happened yesterday—when not one…not two…but three slow-ass utility vehicles somehow ended up in front of me—was even better.
I swear, those suckers must have gotten up to at least 10 miles per hour…combined.
And I know the guys behind the wheels of those utility vehicles work hard and they’re here keeping the community going and they always come out and fix utility poles and wires and what would we do without them and their slow vehicles?
I get all of that, and please believe me when I say I appreciate them—of course I do; once one of them even showed my boys the fried squirrel that he and his partner had retrieved after figuring out why the power was out in our neighborhood and fixing it. And he said something like, “Ever had fried squirrel? Wanna bite?” and I told him no thanks, I was on a diet and I preferred my squirrel baked, and we all had a good laugh.
I love those guys! But when you’re in the midst of an episode of road rage because you’re going to be late for work, you can’t help but find yourself thinking that if you had your wasp spray—the kind with the cone that you keep on your bedside table because it shoots 20 feet and is supposed to be really good at warding off rapists—you would roll down your window and aim it right at the driver’s side window of the vehicle in front of you because that’s the one you can get to.
He’s a good guy; he doesn’t deserve the rapist treatment—you’re well aware of that even as you have the thought—but dammit, he’s going so slowly and he needs to speed it the fck up.
It was a fun drive to work.