On The Importance Of Driving Maniacally

Today I drove across town to meet my wife and children for a photo session with the kids.  I didn’t want to be late, and somehow this simple desire turned me into a manic, hazardous driver.

I had some difficulty getting out of our subdivision, which was frustrating, but the real trouble started on the highway.  I had about two miles of highway left (before the city and the stoplights would begin) when I found myself trapped behind a cluster of cars going slower than the speed limit allowed.  In the right lane was a furniture delivery truck with the words “On Time When You Need It!” on its back.  (The customer didn’t need it on time today.)  In the left lane were cars going the same speed, assuming, apparently, that if Einstein was right, the slower they traveled, the faster they could grow even more elderly. 

So I get mad and I go mad.  I know weaving won’t do me any good, but I try it anyway.  Nope, I’m stuck.  With each tender revolution of my tires, I grow more irritated that we are going this slowly on a highway. 

I see the light ahead turn green.  “Oh no,” I think.  “We’re going to miss that light.  That’s the longest light in town.  We can’t miss that light.”  I yell, “Come on, people!  Don’t you see the light!?!?  Let’s make that light!”

We don’t make the light.  Now I’m fully steamed.  But my latest weave has left me in the right lane and, if I’m decisive enough, I can turn right here, ahead of the cross traffic.  So I punch it!  I sweep out in front of the traffic, cross the lanes and make it to the center lane.  I will cut through this corner lot and get ahead of the furniture truck! 

Only I’ve picked a horrible corner to cut.  I have to drive completely around a building and over two speed bumps.  The first bump isn’t bad, but I see an impending pedestrian near the second, larger one.  I’ll have to hustle!  I give it some gas, hit the bump, and halfway over my car freezes in mid-air.   The only sound: “Ol’ Jason better hope he makes that appointment, or Daisy’ll get right nasty.” 

I land, make a hard left, and gun it for the street.

And the Toyota Highlander ahead of me on the exit row is in no hurry.  Napping, possibly.  They come to the street, come to a stop, and pause.  They deliberate whether they can make it out in front of the furniture truck that has just been released by the stoplight.  They weigh their options, calculate the mass and acceleration of the oncoming vehicle, use a differential equation to compute the relative proximity—THEY DON’T GO.  THEY SIT THERE.  DO THEY HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT IT TOOK FOR ME TO GET HERE?

I watch the furniture truck go by.  And the cars I had woven around.  And the cars that had been behind me.  And some cars that I haven’t seen before.  And more cars.

When all the cars have left and Mr. Naplander has counted three Mississippi, he pulls out.  I zoom around.

It takes some driving (and maybe a run light) to catch the old cluster, but I do.  I start weaving again, this time with more success.  In fact, I am able to cut off the delivery truck just in time to catch the right appendage of the Y in the road. 

Only I shouldn’t have gone right.  I forget that I am going to the mall, of all places, and this road takes me too far north.  My only choices are to drive around the block or cut through the Hobby Lobby / Wal-mart parking lot.  I don’t need to be bothered with any more roads or their pesky traffic signals (and I’m a fan of both Hobby Lobby and Wal-mart) so I choose to cut.  The Hobby Lobby lot is nearly empty.  I quickly reach cruising speed. 

Old lady!  Bolt!  I make it through the walkway before she crosses into my half of it. 

Between the mall parking lot and the Hobby Lobby lot is a crazy, curved intersection that serves both the lots and an inlet road from a major street.  It’s one of those intersections where no one’s sure who has a STOP sign and who doesn’t, and so we all slow down and play with our blinkers.  I take advantage of the weakness I see in the others and, even though I happen to know that I’m the only one with a STOP sign, slice my way through the confusion, right-of-way be darned.

At the mall I tailhook into a spot near an entrance between two major department stores.  I kill the engine.

Out of the car, and halfway to the entrance… I realize there is no entrance.  A little jut-in of brick has faked me out.  I have to enter through one of the big stores. 

I’m closer to Sears, but my car is closer to Penny’s, so I decide that I’ll take it easy on Future Jason and go through Penny’s.  And what providence!  It is to laugh!  I have to traverse the lingerie, handbag, teen girl, and women’s shoe sections to get to the mall proper.  How I look forward to walking through these departments again on the way out!

I walk briskly through the mall as if I understood the shape of the thing.  I come to a hub of sorts, and make a left.  It is The Perfect Left.  I have somehow found the most direct route to the photo place. 

As it turns out, I’ve beaten Sarah and the kids by several minutes. 

I spend my minutes looking impressively nonchalant in front of the photo place.