The other day I was waiting at a light to get on the freeway. I was turning left, and this intersection is notorious for people pulling over from the center lane and turning left to get on the freeway, so I always try to punch it when the light turns green. Anyway, I'm sitting there listening to my stereo blaring, and this POC little beat-up mazda pulls up in the center lane, 4-inch muffler buzzin for all it's worth. I glance over (mistake) and the guy's got his window down and he's motioning to me, trying to get my attention. So I lower the passenger window (mistake) and he yells "Hey! I'm turnin left! Don't pull that piece o' $*** grannie car in front of me!" Well, I don't particularly like it when someone cuts me off, and I really don't like it when they TELL ME they're gonna cut me off, but see, my car really was my grandma's car before I got it, and it's nice. I liked my grandma, and I really like my car. I really REALLY don't like it when someone calls it not-nice things. So I push the window button and roll it back up, not answering the guy's taunts even though I really wanted to punch him for what he said, but I just sit there. Waiting... Watching... And when I see the cross light turn yellow, I just barely start to rev the engine while I hold my left foot firmly on the brake. Not that I have a turbo to spool up, mind you, but it works. I've done it a few times. I cut the light and floor it, and my dinky little carburetor sucks all the air it can as I whip across the intersection, the overpass, and into the left turn lane onto the freeway. For the record, the mazda did turn left. But it turned left behind me, and it was three quarters of a mile before he caught up, and I wasn't about to go more than 60mph; I'd already seen two cops pulling people over on that freeway that morning. I'm a youth minister, and I certainly can't afford a traffic ticket right now. My exit was a few miles down the road, but who do I see when I pull off and head to the Phillips 66? Yep, that same little mazda sittin there in the parking lot of the convenience store. The passenger comes over to me while I'm filling up and asks how big my V8 is... I just had to laugh, which he didn't take too well. When I told him it was a stock 3.8 liter V6 with a two-barrel carb and a crappy 3spd, he called me a dog in Spanish, shook his head, and walked back to the mazda. Yeah, I know it isn't nearly as exciting as the others here, but it's my story. That's the point, right?
God Bless, y'all. Drive safe.
God Bless, y'all. Drive safe.
