Go Sell Crazy Somewhere Else

I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried.

I was on my way to work a few days ago – cruising down Alton Boulevard at about 45 mph – when a small geriatric Asian woman suddenly jumped out in front of my car.  Her left hand went up, palm out, making the universal symbol for “stop” as though she was a traffic cop managing a busy intersection during a power outage.

It was an interesting choice.  My car is a 14 year old Mitsubishi Eclipse with nearly 200,000 miles on it.  No disc brakes, just drums.  No anti-lock system.  No crumple zones, airbags, or sneeze guards.

Suffice it to say I left skid marks on the ground… and in less mentionable places.  This crazy woman avoided an ambulance ride by mere inches.

Did she take a moment to reflect on this fact?  Nope.  Instead, she rushed around to the passenger side window and started pounding on it while yelling something incomprehensible.  I could only pick out bits and pieces, but the words “high school” stuck out.

I’m not sure if it was idle curiosity or the urge to yell back at her, but whatever the reason, I reached over to roll down the passenger side window.  This was clearly a mistake, because before I could even get it halfway down, she reached into my car and unlocked the door.  In an instant, the door was open and she was sitting in the right seat, all the while jabbering on about highschoolhighschoolhighschool.  Naturally, my laptop computer was under her ass.  A meaningess factoid, apparently, because she continued screeching about “highschoohighschool!”.

There was a high school just down the road.  Hmmm.  Was there some sort of emergency going on over there?  A crazed student with a gun, perhaps?  A gas leak?  Or perhaps it was something really important, like the football team getting a critical two point conversion in the fourth quarter?

I began driving toward the school, thinking it might be wise to dial 911.  If nothing was happening on campus, there was always the hijacker in my car for the authorities to work on.

It was about this time that I hear the word “bus” interspersed with the gibberish and it all started to fall into place.  Our intrepid nut case had missed her bus.  Apparently wherever she’s from, if you miss the public transportation, you forcibly stop the next automobile and they give you a ride to the farthest reaches of town.

Still shocked at having an uninvited total stranger in my vehicle, it took a good 30 seconds before I threw her out.  I spat, “Confucious say: get the hell out of my car before I go postal, you crazy loon!”

OK, not really.  It was more like, “Um, I’m headed to the airport.  This is as far as I can take you.”

A blank stare.  Time passes.  I gesture to the sidewalk.  She opened the door, hopped out, and happily walked away without so much as a goodbye or thank you.  After all we’d been through together!

The nerve.