Idiot Clown

I don't wear a wristwatch.

So when the clock in my car stopped working the other day, you might think I lost the ability to keep track of time. Not so. That's because before my clock stopped, I learned how to tell time from the driver in the Jeep in front of me. On one of the hottest days of the year, he had his driver's side window rolled all the way down. And every five seconds he would extend his left arm out the window and give a little flick--a few tiny ashes fell off each time and disappeared in the wind.

Twenty-two flicks is a long time to be stopped at a red light. But even though I was fortunate enough during the wait to get a waft of his numerous exhalations (through closed windows, mind you) I was not upset at him. I made an effort to understand and tolerate someone who has a habit I find wholly revolting and inconsiderate. (Perhaps I have a few myself.)

But then, after we started moving again and forty more subtle flicks elapsed, he gave one mighty flick; the cigarette butt made a large arc and hit my car on the driver's side of my windshield. No damage caused, obviously, but I was really upset. If you promise to believe me, I will say I did not swear at him (multiple times, including one last, more emphatic blast right as I turned left and he continued straight.)

I had time to reflect during the rest of my drive home (I estimate it was thirty-six flicks) about how much I have changed. Or perhaps it is the world I live in. See, in the late 1980s, when I was near the top of my game, I would have reacted differently to a cigarette butt hitting my car.

One time I was driving home after an enjoyable summer day topping corn, with my brother and a friend in the "Screamin' Blue Demon." (That's what my friend called my pickup. It was blue all right, and I guess screaming is what you would call the sound it made when I would get to 40mph without shifting out of first gear yet.) After ascending Canyon Hill on Marble Front Road, I was stopped, waiting to make a left on N. Georgia. Anyone who has made that turn knows why I was stopped. Apparently, the driver in the car that came up behind didn't.

She went around me on the right, gave a little honk on the horn, and said, "There's no stop sign!" as she turned right and headed away. I was not about to let this misdeed go unpunished. I whipped the steering wheel around and tore down the street after her. I was tailgating her most of the way, but she had to stop at Hillcrest, so I pulled up next to her (there was not another lane there) at the stop sign and started yelling.

"Hey, you clown, did you happen to see the car coming towards me on Marble Front, you clown!?! I know there isn't a stop sign there, you clown; I live on that street! I was waiting there for the car to pass so I could make the left turn, you idiot! YOU are the clown that needs driving lessons!" I yelled another minute or two at her and her passenger, and threw in a few more 'clowns' and 'idiots' for good measure.

Or how about the time I was riding with a friend home from Nampa, when someone cut us off? My buddy Darryl sped up along side the car (there was one guy in it this time) while I draped myself out the window and let him have it. I may have threatened him, I may have sworn, I may have yelled the Pledge of Allegiance at him--I can't remember now.

We stopped for gas and then decided to hit Wendy's for a square burger. In the parking lot a car came racing at us; there were more heads in it than I could count, and the guy I had berated earlier (now a passenger) was wearing an evil grin. We sped away, took to the interstate, and got off at the Middleton exit, with the car full of hoods following us the whole way.

After fifteen minutes of running, we darted down a side street, turned off the lights, and grabbed a tennis racket out of the back. If we were going to go down, we intended to do some damage. Fortunately, they never found us and we made it home safe.

Fast-forward about twenty years, and here I am. Other drivers still bother me, but I don't pull up along side and yell at my fellow drivers anymore. A few "big words" muttered to myself are enough.