Mechanized (Near) Death!

Okay, I don't want to chat about those fondly remembered classroom scare films high school teachers used to show us to scare us all into driving like lil' ol' ladies. (Although come to think of it, they were a hoot. A friend of mine actually passed out during "Red Asphalt." {Hi, Jack!} Then again, knowing his probably stoned state-of-mind, maybe it wasn't the movie that made him pass out.) But, hey, I digress!

Not a hoax! Not an imaginary story! Not a dream! Two days ago, I nearly died on the highway and would have been the apex of a disastrous and deadly multi-car pile up.

There I was, minding my own business, tooling down the highway (I think humming along to Foster The People...okay, okay, it was Hall and Oates. Don't judge me!), when I come up to the ever-present highway construction. It's everywhere these days in Kansas City. You can't avoid it. During the pandemic, the orange cone industry has been thriving mightily.

Anyway, our major thoroughfare (I-35) is totally jacked up. The middle lane of the highway is closed with a stone barrier erected on both sides of it (just so the sadists in charge can.) So I role along into the two right-hand lanes, the barrier next to me. I notice a little bit ahead that four vehicles are suddenly slowing down in the right lane next to me. Ever vigilant, I watch them. At the very last second, this junker car (natch!) swings right in front of me, then stops.

Okay, I'm bearing down on this idiot while driving about 65 MPH. And the thoughts that rushed through my mind... That whole business about your life flashing in front of you? Total movie crap! All I could think of was "man, I'm not getting home anytime soon," and "Dammit. I'm gonna to be the focal point of many deaths," and, finally, "I hope my underwear remains clean."

Everything happened in a couple of seconds. I yanked my car onto the extremely narrow (and rapidly narrowing) shoulder. The cement barrier is literally two inches to my left. Tires screech, not only my own, but others behind me. I skid right alongside the stopped moron, missing her by another two inches. As I continue skidding, brakes crammed down to the floor, I wait for the first impact, anticipating a series of impacts to follow behind me, next to me, everywhere, as I waft off to my final destination. (Please, please, please let it be the good one!)

Miraculously, nothing happens. Finally, I come to a wiggling stop. Freaking out. And to my extreme shock, my underwear remained clean. But I'm shaking more than Mike Pence at a gay rights rally.

The idiot who nearly caused much death slowly moves on down the highway. I do what any citizen living in Trump's America would do...I catch up to her, next to her, ready to give her the Trumpian, one-fingered salute. I don't. Why? Because she's clearly crazy. Talking to herself, one hand in the air, scowling. Either certifiably crazy or she intentionally wanted to finance a new car through insurance. It was a hunk of junk, after all.

After that, I probably should've gotten off the highway I was shaking so much. Kinda delirious, too. Scared. An hour later, the adrenaline was still pumping through me. But, hey, thanks to my ever vigilant driving skills, I pulled it off! See? High school wasn't such a waste of time, after all!

On the subject of wasting time, how about turning off the TV, and give a read to my sinister, ultimate winter-storm-gone-wrong horror thriller, Dread and Breakfast? Not only will you be glad you did, you'll make me really glad, too! Ta till next week!