Another Day on the Road

Something funny happened to my husband today and I decided to allow him to be my first guest writer and post his story on this blog.  Enjoy!

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Another Day on the Road

by

Edward J. Zimmerman

Those of you who know me also know that I drive a lot, always have.  As such, it's not surprising that things happen ...to me ...because of me - while I'm on the road. 

Friends and relatives alike also understand that

     1) my fuse can be frustratingly short

     2) I don't always exhibit the greatest level of:

          a) compassion
          b) empathy
          c) sympathy
          d) pick any other noun associated with kindness

I'm working on both numbers 1 and 2 but my attempts at improving these attributes are more than likely going to spill over into my next life.

Swimming Upstream blog readers might want to print posts entitled "Another Charleston Story" and "Tempting Fate" for handy reference during this story.

This evening I was heading home from a day in Greenville driving north on I-85 and participating on a conference call with co-workers. Yes, it was on hands-free. (Thank you for asking, Chris.)  I had been engaged in the conversation for a while and it was lively.  As the call was winding down I realized that I was gaining quickly on the vehicle in front of me and I glanced at my speedometer (see "Tempting Fate.") 

Fearing I had inadvertantly been mashing (yes, mashing, I live in South Carolina now) the accelerator, I quickly backed off but realized I was only going 45 mph to begin with. I wrapped up the phone call, mumbled bad words about the guy in the car ahead, sped up, moved into the left lane to pass, and the guy moved over in front of me.  More bad words.  Now going 50 mph, I carefully moved back to the right lane again. Again he moved in front of me. Now I'm thinking, hey, maybe during the phone call I inadvertantly cut this dude off or something; maybe it's not him, maybe it's me? 

I started to feel a little guilty, just a little, not that much really, hardly noticable. Another quarter mile passes and we're still going 45 but I notice his right turn signal is on. Hey, perhaps he's trying to signal me (see "Another Charleston Story.")  I take the next exit, pull into a Denny's and check the kayaks (yes, they'e always up there) but they're fine.  Bad words are spilling out again - I can't stop them, it's how I am.  I think about that car, a blue Impala, Michigan license plate.  Go back home, Yankee dog!


Now I'm heading back north again on I-85.  I turn on the radio and my phone rings. It's a South Carolina number but I don't recognize it.  I answer and it's my neighbor Dave.

"Whatcha doin?" he asks.

"Just driving around Greenville," I reply.

Before he speaks again my Cray supercomputer-like brain starts cranking. He works for a manufacturer out of Michigan, drives a company car, a blue Impala. More bad words and I ask if that was him in front of me.

"Why would I be driving 45 mph on an expressway?" he laughs.  Even more bad words.  He said he was heading through Greenville, looked up the road a mile and noticed a goofball with one blue and one orange kayak on top of his car. "Hey, it's Jerry Zimmerman up there."

I'm guessing he was bored.

BTW Dave: Congratulations on the big order, jackass.