Saturday, September 12, 2009

 

The Road, Part II

I've actually got a whole LIST of oh-it-hurts-my-brain Morons On Wheels stories like this, but, as seems to be the norm lately, I'm crazy for time. But here's another road story at last, sweet and short. This one's actually my favorite of all time.

The setting is Moscow, Idaho, way up in the panhandle where I lived for two years back in the mid-1990s when I was a single ramblin' man. The winters were cold. One winter evening I was driving somewhere and came to a red light. Naturally, I stopped. After I'd been sitting there for about a minute, a guy drove up and rear-ended me. Bang! He didn't hit me too hard, but it was a good jolt. So I got out and looked at him -- he was okay -- then looked at my dented bumper.

"What the hell, man?" I said.

He pointed at his windshield as if it was at fault. The glass was heavily iced on the outside, which he'd barely scraped, and had then frosted over on the inside with condensation. "I couldn't see!" he said. That was his excuse. He was driving but he couldn't see, so the windshield was at fault.

Seriously: Nobody can top that brilliant story, can they? :)

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Comments:
*thinks*
*thinks s'more*

I got nuttin'.

That's just *bad*. Most of mine are just commute idiots that cause me to yell at them.

-kat
 
No, no, it's *good* not to be hit while idling at stoplights! :)
 
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