A Leak in the Blood Mobile?

This morning I stopped at a red light in a left turn lane, first car. To my right, going straight, and also in first position was a beat up, white, Ford hatchback thing of indeterminate age. There were stickers all over the car informing me it was engaged in the Emergency transfer of blood. I glanced over with what I thought was a suitably austere expression and saw a slight and rather hirsute man of about 55 in the driver seat, frantically wiping the inside of the windshield. After a few seconds he exited the car (no seatbelt) and used the same tired towel to scrub at something on the exterior of the windshield, same basic location. He eyed the spot, shook his head, and got back in the car (again, no seatbelt – I mention this only because he is apparently engaged in a pursuit somewhat linked with the healthcare industry… I think it should be a given). He went back to rubbing at the same spot on the interior windshield.

Aaaaaargh! What was it. What did he see. Was there a legitimate spot on the glass. Had some of his precious cargo squirted from its vessel, soiled his window? Or was it something altogether different. Altogether more sinister. Altogether more Lady Macbeth? Was he covering up some misdeed? Perhaps he had sampled from the containers in a midnight howl-at-the-moon orgy of darkness. Or maybe a recent plasma shortage had led him to target the weak and infirm, striking them with his Ford, siphoning their very essence into empty Poland Spring bottles for transport to some quasi-Frank Miller-esque Emergency Room.

Then again, maybe he just needs a good carwash. Highway bugs are really hard to remove. Yeah, that’s probably it. But the vampire blood mobile thing is a lot more entertaining. Maybe I can sell that story to the Weekly World News…

Right of Way

After verrrry slow 287 traffic with no reasonable explanation at 9 o’clock in the morning I found myself at an intersection, waiting for my green arrow to make a left turn. Let me lay out the scene in gross detail. I am behind 2 other cars, all waiting for the divine nod of the green arrow. Across the way are several cars waiting at a red that I happen to know is clearly marked “No Turn on Red.” They are at the base of a winding hill.

After a few long moments, my little lane of cars is blessed with the green and we start rolling. At this point, a very old, rusted out van decides to make the illegal right on red and almost plows into the lead car in my row. We all slam on our brakes, as the van driver flips our collective the bird and chugs away with smoke pouring from his tailpipe.

But here’s where it gets good.

As I move into the left turn, a little Honda comes shooting down the hill. I am still well protected under the auspices of my green arrow, so I’m not too worried. At least, not at first. As she cruises down to the bottom of the hill, it is clear she has no intention of stopping…at the red light…the ‘No Turn on Red’ red light. Just as a bead of sweat pops on my brow, she hits the brakes with an audible squeal. And…this is what really got me fumed…she leans on the horn and starts yelling at me through the windshield.

I wanted to launch my new design with this, one of my favorite types of stories. A really really really bad driver story. There’s no point, I guess, other than to ask anyone who might read this to please, please please understand two simple things.

1. Even when it is legal to turn right on red, you still have to come to a complete stop first.

2. When you screw up, don’t yell and honk at me. I’m fragile. Show a little kindness. Please.