The other day I was behind a girl just waiting my turn when one of her friends came up on her left and surprised her. I could not hear what they were saying but I started to image they were talking about how long it had been, how great it was to see each other and if the girl in front of me had ever followed through in her plans on invading Poland to establish the master race. Ya know, stuff like that. They were chatting for a while and I was mesmerized when I realized that they like me were on the highway during rush hour traffic in Denver.
That’s when I proved my theory that there are two types of people. The “look-a-round and talk to your fellow motorists” people and the “Don’t look at me I’m driving” people. I happen to be in the don’t acknowledge me camp. Yes, I may have the top off the Jeep and have Madonna’s Hard Candy blaring, shirtless doing that side-two-side dance thing but I’m not looking over so you don’t either.
My friend Jeff was a “car cruiser” and I HATED this. He would roll down the window and start hooting and woofing at a hot guy next to us. My response was always “Do you think his wife and kids in the back really appreciate your advances?”
The Girls seemed unaware that traffic had pretty much disappeared in front of them all the way to Speer while they were chatting. These were that type to own pink Razors, T-backs with gem stones spelling out juicy or crispy and the type that talk loudly to each other in a movie, or westbound I25. Die you hateful Moo cows.
Why do I curse like a Sailor until I get behind the wheel?
Soon I tapped on the horn but this was interrupted as “I want to rip off your jaw and piss down your McMuffin hole.” I did the “hello! Drive! There are other people in the world” hand motion. And with that Ms. Tragic hair zipped off in her 13 MPG Durango. Madonna and I went back to our duet. Past Park avenue I saw a bumper stick that read:
Squirrels. Natures little speed bumps.