A-MEN, Mah Brutha

I have *SO* got to get this as a bumper sticker:




Of course, if I do, I will probably get into more trouble that I already experience when driving. NONE of it my fault, of course.

As I noted in the comments of Faith's blog entry for today, I have a knack of picking up Trouble. I don't go looking for it, but LA is a town where Trouble finds you. And it's not from who you think it is/should be; it's always the ones that have too much and feel too entitled to more. Honest fact: I go shopping at the Wal-Mart on Crenshaw all the time. I have *never* {knock on wood} had any sort of incident there. But Westside? WeHo? Beverlywood? DANG. Those folks either think I don't belong there, or I have the proverbial sign on my forehead.

In addition to being physically attacked TWICE at the 76 station on Pico and Doheny (both times by exactly the sort of person Faith describes - female, young, attractive, underweight), I've been in countless squabbles and pissing contests with drivers that: (1) don't believe there is traffic back up on Pico; (b) believe that because I drive a truck I am a greviously slow driver; or (iii) are just plain idiots. I'm guessing mostly(iii).

Just this morning, on my way to work *with plenty of time*, I decided to stop at the bank ATM. Some idiot in a new Cadillac SUV was barrelling down the alley behind the bank, driving on the LEFT side of the alley, hoping to make a left turn. However, I had already begun my turn left into the alley. Since I was on the RIGHT side, and he was blocking the alley, I stopped to allow him to adjust his position.

That was my mistake.

Apparently, when a middle class older white male is driving, one should yield to him at any cost, even if it entails BACKING BACK INTO THE STREET, and regardless of whether he is in the wrong.

How do I know this? Because his middle class white female in the passenger seat was SCREACHING at me to move my "f--king" car. Dude. I said, "This is a 2-way street. you are over the line." OH MY GAWD. The torrents were unleashed. The hysterical peroxide blonde went ballistic. The clearly castrated driver tried to (frighten? threaten?) me by inching toward my truck. [uhm, hello? have you seen my truck? do you think i'm gonna care if you plow into me?!?!]

I summoned the most disdain I could imagine, and looked at the woman. "You are old, ugly and you have an annoying voice. You really should work on that." (My apologies to all other old and ugly people. That was just my anger speaking.) Then I just rolled up my window and waited.

Despite the shocked look on her face and the look that made me think he really wanted to laugh, the Ball-less Wonder yelled at me, "You F**KED up, lady! You really F**KEd up!"

NICE LANGUAGE, folks! Real classy!!!

Then, no doubt because of the hurry that caused them to drive like a complete idiot in the first place, he pulled around (over to the RIGHT side) and took off. I went about my business.

Moral of the story: Don't mess with people that resemble my parents. It'll just mess up your whole day.