Friday, January 12, 2018

Streaking, But Not What You Think...


Had a doctor's appointment first thing Thursday morning, well, only if you consider 0830, "first thing." Early enough to not miss much time at work and early enough to get in to see the doc before the mob shows up. Not early, just first thing, as in "first thing I'm doing today."

'Twas a lovely day, sunny, temperature was around 48° when I launched from the deck of Chez Sarge. That temperature, incidentally, is a full 30 degrees warmer than Tuesday morning at 0600. Quite a change from the past few weeks.

Anyhoo, as I was marveling at the blue skies and the fact that I didn't really need my gloves (don't get me started there), I noticed that the bane of all northern drivers was upon the road.

Spray, thrown up from the vehicles to my front. A mixture of melting snow and the salt applied to the road surfaces during the meteorological event a week ago which brought a metric crap-ton of the white stuff (snow) to our region. Streaking and dirtying my windshield.

Now this spray, in my vehicle at any rate, requires short bursts of windshield wiper fluid to keep visibility up to my standards. I'm here to tell you, I cannot stand a streaked and semi-opaque windshield while driving down the highways and byways of this great land of ours. (Cue America the Beautiful.)

Now there was one vehicle that I had the misfortune to take up position behind whilst on the way to the doc's. This vehicle seemed to think there were enemy submarines in the area as they were constantly making little zigs and zags. Not always "coloring between the lines" dontcha know?

When the road widened into four lanes (two each way), I kicked Big Girl into burner and blasted past the offending vehicle. All the windows, save a three square foot patch of windshield were liberally coated in road salt, no little amount of dirt, perhaps even a partridge in a pear tree.

As I passed, I noticed that the elderly female operator of the vehicle had a death grip (both hands at the top) on the steering wheel. Her vision was focused intently to her front. I daresay the windows on that car hadn't been cleaned in months.

Felt a bit sorry for her I did. Had a touch of guilt at the verbal abuse I had conjured up towards this wee lady in my brain pan while traveling in her wake I did. Probably someone's dear old grannie, I felt the complete cad. Which reminded me of a story.

Once upon a time, on the road, the female progeny (I think The Missus Herself was present as well) witnessed me berating an older person behind the wheel of another vehicle. Not quite sotto voce, I think I might have been in full enragement. Said older person was making a complete dog's breakfast out of the simple task of staying in their lane and was traveling at a speed well below the posted limit. Offended I was, irked I was. Here was this fellow grandpa, "letting down the side," as it were. Making all of us geezers look bad.

Now let me pause here for a moment, lest you think that I am too hard on the elderly. No, no. I berate all drivers. I am an equal opportunity berater. I don't care what gender you are (or think you are), your color, your religious beliefs, your national origin, your favorite color, or your age. If you are an obvious incompetent operating a motor vehicle, I will bitch about it. Vociferously. I have witnesses who can vouch for that.

Now, where was I? Oh yes, the berating of a person of vast age behind the wheel of a mechanized death machine, er, car. At any rate, whilst in mid-harangue, one of the female members of the tribe said, and this is as near a quote as I can recall -

"You know Dad, someday you're going to be that old. Heck, you're nearly there! You're going to drive the exact same way."

Gobsmacked I was, flabbergasted, and taken all aback was I at this suggestion from one of my beloved daughters. (I'm betting it was The WSO, though it could have been The Nuke as well.)

"If I ever drive like that, I hope you kids will take my keys away and prevent me from ever getting behind the wheel again! Ever!" I indignantly proclaimed.

When we arrived at our destination, I cut the corner a wee bit fine and ran one of the back tires up and over the curb. As I parked the car, the love of my life, the lady to whom I have been married forty years this very day, turned to me and said -

"Better give me those keys honey, I think you're done."

Chagrined and humiliated by the laughter of my wife and children. I mumbled something about fudge, I'm sure that's what it was, and went into the store.

Blushing a rather delightful shade of red.

Hoisted I was. On my own petard.




The opening photo was taken on the way home from work Thursday eve. I stopped the windshield wipers momentarily so that you could all see the streaking and glare that one gets without an every now and then squirt of wiper fluid and a near constant use of the wipers. It can get ugly fast!

26 comments:

  1. How sharper than a serpent's tooth.. You don't possibly suppose that the sarcasm gene runs in pool of the Missus Herself do you?

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    Replies
    1. It must, I have it and it is even stronger in the progeny.

      Delete
    2. Sarcasm, must be a secret Korean genetic weapon.

      Never known someone of Korean dissent not to heavily embrace sarcasm.

      Delete
  2. I used to think it was hysterically funny when my parents would call family members by the wrong first names.
    Now that I might be guilty of exactly that, I am not finding it funny at all, and I wish I could apologize to my parents.

    I am smiling about the driving thing. (not that it applies to me, no, no, of course not!)



    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I am not only guilty of doing that, it's a much more complex solution set these days with the three progeny, two significant others amongst the progeny, four grandkids, two cats, four granddogs, and three grandcats.

      I once mistakenly called The Nuke by the name of one of our cats, pleased she was not. I constantly call her by her sister's name and vice versa.

      As a child I thought my name was "Raw-ri-kri, whatever the Hell your name is."

      For a while I thought Our Savior and I shared the same name, only I had "H" for a middle initial.

      As in my Dad asking, "Jesus H. Christ, what have you done now?" Directed at Your Humble Scribe, of course.

      Delete
  3. We had a wonderful black Lab named Duchess when the children were small. Somehow the children came to believe that the dog's name was Duchess-damnit. I, of course, have no idea how they might have come to that conclusion.

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    Replies
    1. Hahaha! Yeah, where do kids come up with this stuff?

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  4. Mrs. C seldom says anything bad about anyone until she gets behind the wheel, the she goes full out Italian and everyone one the road but her is an "Idiot" often an Fn Idiot. Yes, Mrs C does the driving, says I wobble a bit on the road...I disagree, but not loudly.

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  5. You prefer no profanity on your blog so I can't share my, "You #$%^#$ tourist", uttered several times a day.

    My late father was fluent in Hindu from his WWII service. He used that skill often in mixed company when irritated. Dogs and kids ran for cover.

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    Replies
    1. And I know exactly what you mean.

      Hindi, hhmm, I need to look into that.

      Delete
  6. I’m sure MB can tell a good story or two about how patients I am with other drivers.
    It seems I have probably always been such.
    When my son, who now in his forties, was about three, he was riding with his mother one day.
    She honked the horn angrily at another driver.
    He asked why.
    Her reply was that she hadn’t wanted them to hit her.
    He said, “Just call them an @$$#0|€ like dad. They won’t hit you.”

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  7. Thanks for the post. Your tale, while good, is rivaled by the comments. The whole ( post and comments ) rates high on the lol ( not little old ladies ) scale.

    Paul L. Quandt

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  8. BTW: I've found that if I just wait half an eon after hitting the 'Publish' button, my comment will post. I'm guessing that blogger is deciding if it wishes to let it be seen or not.

    Paul

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Yup, it seems to be solely a Blogger problem. A couple of WordPress sites I visit (and comment on) do NOT have this problem. I also noted that commenting from my Android phone on Blogger type blogs shows the same annoying, infernal, and interminable delay.

      Delete
  9. Had an eye exam early today so was unable to hit here until now and glad I did. Burst out laughing several times because of the comments and had to clean the screen also (glad it was H2O I was drinking). Needed the laughter since it warmed up to 4 above ......

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    Replies
    1. 4 above! Ouch, it was in the mid-50s here. Snow is melting like crazy. Rainy too.

      Delete
    2. Just wait. It will get cold again...

      Delete
  10. Off topic, and on a very sad note, here is the latest on the San Juan from cdrsalamander's blog. Read the full analysis to understand what finally happened to them. Probably we'll never know what caused the loss of the sub, but we know how she died.

    http://cdrsalamander.blogspot.com/2018/01/fullbore-friday_12.html#disqus_thread

    Basically, she, and all her crew, died from crush-implosion.

    May God hold those boys close to his bosom, and help those who lost loved ones.

    ReplyDelete
  11. I moved to FL from the south shore of MA a couple of years ago- A little less than a year after moving, I was driving my wife's car, dropping my kid and a couple of his friends off at the movie theater. One of the kids picked up the snow brush and asked 'what the heck is this thing?"
    To hell with what the snowflakes say. That's some privilege right there.

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    Replies
    1. Nice!

      I heard a story from an old chief I worked with a long time ago. Said that when he retired he was going to strap a snow shovel to the front of his car and start driving south. First time somebody asked him what the snow shovel was, that's where he was going to live.

      Snow brush seems to work too.

      Delete

Just be polite... that's all I ask. (For Buck)