Copyrighted by Lorna Tedder. Originally published in Third Degree and Rising.
And in further news today….additional evidence that God watches over fools.
A quick trip to the pharmacy was all I needed to decide it’s time to get new contact lenses. I waited patiently in line for an older-than-dirt couple to pay and toddle out and then I quickly and efficiently made my purchase and headed out the same doors…and got embarrassingly trapped at the door trying to find my way out. No, no, you idiot clerk, I really can’t read the signs, but thanks for asking!
I finally have to admit that the new prescription isn’t working. The previous one lasted four years or more, with me wearing glasses over contact lenses only to drive or stare at the stars. It was a perfect solution—this one isn’t. So I’m ready to switch to long-distance contacts and haul out the funkiest pair of reading glasses I can find.
Given that I’m 45, I can’t complain too much about over-40 eyes or really much of anything medical. I’m just now seeing evidence of physical issues that most of my older friends were screaming over at 38 or 39 and I’m still pedaling my tricycle just a little faster than the menopausal steamroller down the street behind me and refuse to look back at it except in the mirror that says “Objects in the mirror may be closer than they appear” in tiny letters that I can no longer read any fucking way.
My distance vision, with this prescription, is however just fine and dandy and I can drive quite well as long as I don’t have to look in the mirror at a runaway eyelash. I kept this in mind as the next customer opened the door and I scooted out the wrong way and across the street to my car about 5 full parking spots away.
On such a gorgeous spring day, there was nary a car on the street or as I climbed into my car and started the ignition. At the time, I was thinking about being able to see just fine to drive and how it was the up-close vision that was giving me problems and how I really need to get more sleep.
As I was backing out, a monster truck crossed the parking lot illegally, careened in behind me, and parked in the empty spot beside me.
I was slightly annoyed but returned to backing out when the lane behind me became so congested that I couldn’t move. Three cars lined up perpendicular to me, all trying to get out of the parking lot and the huge truck beside me blocking my view of the other direction. By the time the last car behind me—bearing the older-than-dirt couple—had crawled forward and made a space for me to back out, the guy driving the monster truck had his door wide open and almost against my own vehicle. I didn’t dare back out because I would have lost my passenger-side mirror.
I had to wait for him to poke around and lumber out and slam his door before he stood in my line of sight of oncoming traffic.
He paused at the back of my car, still blocking my view.
“Ah, come on out!” he yelled at me. “Whatcha waiting fer? Ain’t nothing coming!”
But something was coming and I wasn’t moving—even with my over-40 eyes, I could see the car through the truck’s windows, though the car’s driver couldn’t see me. He Who Shall Give All Rednecks a Bad Name just laughed as the car went by unscathed.
Then he yelled for his wife to hurry up and get out of the truck.
While he was standing behind his truck, I started to back out again and slammed on brakes just in time!
The idiot’s wife had joined him at the back of the truck and he pushed her into the path of my car as I was backing out.
I was able to stop in time but she lost her balance and stumbled forward and out of my perceived path while Mr. Chivalry just laughed.
Neither she or nor I found it very funny, but I did note that he cleared the path behind me rather quickly after that.
Leave a Reply