PREFACE
(The 2nd Inspiration After Federal Release)
"Just do it Blakey just do it. Everybody else is". Chanted my Brother-in-law soaking in sweat.
I noticed that indeed the other motorists were butting in line. It was hot. Very hot. And I knew at this point my brother-in-law was seriously contemplating whether or not it might behoove his dry cleaners bill to pay the extra for a real bonafide taxi for an icy cool ride. My cherry red 99 ford escort glided like a Cadillac but lacked some very, very important amenities. All the bells and whistles were either not there or were completely broken. No interior lights, no electric windows, no CD player or electric mirrors. And what did I do for air in my little red jalopy? Why none other than the old school 460 AC. 4 windows down at 60mph.
And there sat my $100,000 annual bread winner feeling the repercussions of the wrath inflicted by MADD. (Mothers Against Drunk Driving). It was in fact the moguls SECOND DUI. Deep inside I felt partially responsible because I was beginning to notice the pattern of my sister's previous lovers and the aftermath of those "sambuka tennis" games she insisted on playing at the park in the wee hours of the night. She had been a bar manager since her restaurant got it's liquor license and realized she could make a lot more picking up those $100 tips left on the counter from drunk people than cutting "Mr. Family man's my wife will kill me if I tip more than $5's hair"
I watched the other cars whiz around the slow poke tractor trailer as we crawled along the heavy summer construction on Rt.222 between Ephrata PA and Denver.
"Do it Blakey do it! He won't mind. Don't you wanna get home so we can let Chloey out?"
Just being a dog lover hearing the words "Chloey" did the trick. I thought about the pain "Momma's lil Princess" was in trying to hold her bladder as I shuttled Sam home from his Big-Wig office job. My brain was fried from all the paperwork I had to complete for the OVR program to get financial help for a new career as I had just been fired from Turkey Hill after a belligerent woman flipped out on me because I didn't know how to operate the food stamp machine for her purchase of two six packs of diet coke. I was a new employee fresh out of Federal prison for a crime at the last minute I changed my mind with pursuing. My only source of income was this soaky man in the passenger seat's twenty bucks for this 25 mile ride home.
I pictured the poor Basset hound trying to hold in her potties as I'm sure Chloey was utterly confused by the hold up as to why we weren't home to let her out.
I slammed it into second gear and maneuvered around the slow poke tractor trailer like everyone else in a hurry to let their dogs out. The harried truck driver completely lost his nerves at this point and began an event of road rage like I have never seen before. I'll never forget the look on that trucker's face as he violently began whiplash maneuvers trying to push any cars off into the grass that dared to pass around him. From a satellite view that tractor trailer would literally look like a snake in high pursuit.
The trucker got within inches of taking off my side mirror as I had no choice but to steer half of my escort into the grass to avoid being struck by the enraged Billy Big Rigger.
"Holy shit!"
"Did you see that trucker?"
My brother-in-law just chuckled. He found the whole incident rather amusing.
I was still off my rocker as I had never quite seen behavior like that from truckers before. My brother-in-law was a big socialite with a master's degree from Millersville university so I was used to asking him questions all the time as I hadn't known yet that Google knows EVERYTHING.
"Are they really allowed to drive like that? I think that guy was really trying to kill us!"
Sam just basked in the air a while before he answered as we were now accelerating past 30mph so the outside air could return our faculties.
"Eh. It's hot outside. I'm sure he just grew impatient watching us all go around him. Those things can only accelerate so fast."
No. I thought to myself. Somebody is paying them to operate those trucker-cycles. There's no need to drive like that.
I had no intentions of being a rat and reporting the road raged driver but I felt the inspiration grow in my bones as I rehearsed everything over on my mind that had just happened back there. Don't those guys get paid the big bucks to operate those big rigs? Why such the hurry? Couldn't I have a lot more patience than that nut if some trucking company put ME on their payroll? Could this be my next career move?