The Scariest Thing in the World

Some would say spiders. I am in that group. I hate spiders. Other people are scared of snakes and clowns. I hate clowns too. Snakes don't bother me unless I am covered in them in an enclosed space, which never happens, so I am OK with snakes. Recently, I was exposed to a group of people in a mental health unit that are scared of everything. As not fun as that sounds, I cannot really comment because of HIPPA regulations. To me, the scariest thing in the world is three-fold, and I see it far too often.

White hair, expensive car, and a cell phone.

Under normal circumstances, those singularly placed into society would not elicit fear out of anyone, unless you fear old people, wealth and technology. I don't fear them seperately. When put together, however, it is down right frightening. Take today for example. I was driving down the road, minding my own business, when the nose of a very expensive Mercedes lurched out in front of me traveling down Leslie Road from one of the many side streets that are along this road. I had to brake pretty hard, and audibly said "what the phuck are you doing," glanced over to see who was driving and all I saw was a tall bun of white hair and a cell phone. Let's examine the logic in this, shall we?

First of all, as people age, their reactions become a little slower. It's like being constantly stoned. Reaction times are diminished significantly. This is on a good day, without distractions. It doesn't make much sense, then, to add a cell phone into the mix. I mean, first of all, you have to be aware enough to have the conversation as opposed to drifting off to the good old days sitting in a puddle of your own urine. If the phone call was to her doctor's office telling them "oops I crapped my pants," or "your urine specimen is in the seat cushion of my car," I suppose that could be made....while NOT operating a heavy piece of metal. Bad idea, grandma. Don't do this.

Secondly, it has been my observation that the more expensive the car, the less likely the driver is to obey ANY traffic laws. This includes, but is not limited to, rolling stops, failing to yield, tailgating, speeding, lack of turn signal usage, random cutoffs, inability to stay in one's own lane and speeding through yellow lights. It happens too often with a car whose value exceeds $40,000. This was a NEW Mercedes. New only by observing the sunlight glistening off the chrome wheels. I could be way off. It could be 10-years old and her husband (cabana boy?) has nothing to do but wash the car 4 times a week. Welcome to retirement. However, age plus wealth equals phuck laws, I'll just write a check. Strike two.

A quick aside, since it bears some relevance in respect to the Mercedes reference. My parents drive Nissan's, made in Japan. One of my parent's neighbors commented on their support of the Japanese and how neglectful it was since Japan bombed Pearl Harbor. This particular neighbor drives a Mercedes....made in Germany. Now, I am not one to categorize human atrocities. However, I believe the Mercedes is dirtier. Just saying...

Finally, as people age, they get a condition known as Noassitol. It inhibits the driver of the vehicle to sit up tall while driving, hence the vision of hair talking on a cell phone. Her sunglasses were on the bun. It literally looked like hair was driving. When a head check in traffic, however, reveals the rear door handle, it may be time to raise your level of sight. I am no expert but I believe in order to operate a motor vehicle, most states require the ability to SEE the field in which you are OPERATING said vehicle. Call me crazy, but it makes sense that the driving age is not 10 for that reason, along with many, MANY others. I don't want to be an asshole and get all high and mighty on this woman. I am sure she has lived a great life, and can act as she pleases. However, after you leave your driveway, you kind of need to be more...how do I say this...equipped to drive a car. It is really for the safety of others. Don't get me started if I had to add roundabouts in here.

That will require calculus...

Of Course This Happened

This conversation actually took place. The names have not been changed because anyone willing that would sue me over this can't read, or cannot afford the Internet.

8:47PM (knock at the door)(Kid's scream "I'LL GET IT," and scramble to the door. I yell, "SIT DOWNNNNNNN," and get up to get the door. (door opens)

Ariel - Ummmm....hiiiiiii. I need to ask Peyton something?

Me - Is that a question? Want me to shut the door so you can refocus your energy on your tone of voice?

Ariel - I need to ask Peyton something.

Me - I know I heard that part, although bravo on the change in fluctuation. Unfortunately Peyton is in bed already.

Ariel - can you wake her up?

Me - I can but that involves doing something that makes absolutely no sense. It's almost 9PM.

Ariel - Can you wake her up?

Me - What the fuck?? Your like a parrot. Do you always repeat yourself or is it just really organized Tourette's?

Ariel - (stares back blankly)

Me - (waves hand in front of Ariel's face) Anyone home or is your Mom's pre-birth drinking problem kicking in?

Ariel - I need to ask Peyton something

Me - I know...we've been over this already. What do you need to ask her?

Ariel - I need her to sign my shirt.

Me - That's not really a question. That's more of a demand. A question is like a request...like when your Mom said do you have protection and your Dad said no and then....here you are, verbally waterboarding me with your words.

Ariel - Can she sign my shirt?

Me - she can't get her clothes in her fucking drawers while she is awake. Something tells me, like common sense, that she can't do that while in a coma

Ariel - what's a coma?

Me - It's that thing you aren't using in your hair, with an 'A'

Ariel - Can she sign it on Saturday?

Me - Nope.

Ariel - Why?

Me - we practice a really screwy religion where writing instruments aren't used on any day that ends in Y. That pretty much leaves Saturwednessun which, unfortunately for you, doesn't exist.

Ariel - when can she sign it?

Me - about the same time you become tolerable

Ariel - (silence)

Me - soooo...about never. Does that suffice??

Ariel - Maybe?

Me - again with the questions....I have to go tend to my sheep so don't be offended when the door slams

(door slams)

There is a high probability that this girl, accidentally or not, broke my wife's car window. She has a sociopathic look to her that makes me fear for lives of rodents and local door knobs. She eyeballs Peyton's rabbit like it's a pork chop. I know I am getting old behaving like a grump, but I only have so much patience and I reserve it for my family, and my patients. Beyond that, the Future Serial Killers of America can deal with the rest.