I encountered a jerk driving a Corvette during my commute this morning. Shocking, I know. And yes, I know that not everyone driving a sports car is a jerk, but too many men (rarely women) get behind the wheel of a high-horsepower rocket and think they’re Cole Trickle. More often, they’re Ricky Bobby.
Anyway, on this fine morning, as I was driving the mean streets of Braintree, a Corvette raced up out of a side street. While it wasn’t exactly bumper-to-bumper traffic, the volume was heavy, yet there was some space between me and the car in front of me. I was going to let the Vette out in front of me, but he had raced up so suddenly it took me a moment to react. By that time, the Vette had jumped out in front of me, almost hitting the car in front of him, and then he slammed on his brakes. I thought me must have slipped his foot off the clutch, but the guy turned to me and yelled an expletive at me. What? What did I do?
And then he had the nerve to pull a “brake job” on me! Look, buddy, you’re driving a brand-new Corvette, probably worth about $70,000. I’m driving a 2000 Honda Civic with its front bumper riveted on and a busted headlight. We could replace my car for the cost of pulling a Civic-shaped dent out of his trunk. Not exactly rocket-science here.
I see the most bizarre things on my commute, although fewer of them since my drive was cut by more than three-quarters a year ago. You should hear my brother’s stories. He’s a truck driver.
Posted via email from Domenico’s posterous