Life in the Fast Lane

I feel as though I took my life into my own hands today. Actually, they were in Stan's hands. Stan was "my driver" from the Jeep dealership where my Jeep still sits waiting for parts. That's always the case... wait. Wait is what I did today. I dropped the buggy off at 9am and didn't get home safe and sound until 12:30pm. You do the math, the dealership is 20 minutes away.

While sitting in the service waiting area, I learned that the driver, Stan, was out and about shuttling people around without any rhyme or reason to his routing. I could have easily highlighted a map for this guy so he could have an efficient day's run, but no one asked me. I was just to sit and wait.

Once Stan, the retiree, picked me up, I had the ride home from hell. The guy had to take a break just from climbing in the minivan before we could take off. I thought he was in need of medical help there for a second but he finally gave a sigh and heaved the rest of his it-looks-like-he's-pregnant belly behind the wheel. I started to hear my heart beating in my ears. It was my blood pressure, I just knew it.

When he finally got his seat belt on, he started telling me how disappointed he was with this job. "They just don't pay me enough for all this stress," he said. Stress? Let me tell you about stress, Stan.

He continued telling me how he could be fired today and it'd suit him just fine. He has no issue with becoming a Wal-Mart greeter and he starting practicing right then and there. "Hello, welcome to Wal-Mart," he said repeatedly. Well Stan? Guess what buddy, I just may help that dream of yours come true.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not out for the senior members of our society. That is far from the truth. I am out for people who are a threat to others and I can soundly say that Stan is one of them.

He hit 80 mph in a 65 mph zone and although I'm one to usually keep it a little over the limit, I wasn't comfortable with Stan's speed, even if his turn signal was blinking the entire time. It was the 80 mph mixed with the bumpbumpbump I kept hearing as he rode the lane dividers. He didn't seem to pay them any mind as he ripped down the highway taking up parts of two lanes. Blood pressure definitely on the rise.

Stan tried to be a bit conversational so I told him I was needing to get home to tend to my chickens. He said, "What?" I don't talk shyly so I knew he had a hearing issue. At that moment, so did I. My heart was beating so loud that it was hard to hear anything over that and the bumpbumpbumps.

Finally, I said, "I have chickens at home and they need to go out."

He paused and said, "My mama raised guineas. If you didn't like guinea eggs and yella grits, then, well, you went without. Why you have chickens?"

I thought, I don't eat any grits, no matter the color. It was at that moment, while the bumpbumpbumps thundered below us that he started opening his honey mustard dipping sauce from McDonalds. I could very possibly throw up.

Talking about food might encourage him to start grabbin' for his nuggets which were in the bag on the floor between our two seats. I decided against that discussion. I just sat quietly, hands pinching my thigh and the armrest on the door, telling myself I'll be home soon, soon.

Realizing we'd been talking about chickens and I never answered his question, he asked, "Why ya want chickens?"

With my eyes wide and burning into the pavement quickly passing before me, I said, "For the eggs."

He licked the lid of the honey mustard and asked, "Who's Ed?"

If Stan is the shuttle driver tomorrow, there's a high chance that I won't be picking up my Jeep til another day and time. It's just too stressful, I can wait.