Crappy is the Only Way to Describe It

I’ve mentioned before that the road I live on is pin straight. The speed limit is 40 on our street, but I often drive speeds greater than 50. This morning I drove at a speed greater than 60 just in time for a cop from the town just south of mine to bust me for speeding.

It would seem that I have lost my touch. It used to be that I could talk my way out of speeding tickets successfully. Was it because I was in my 20’s instead of 35? I’ve gotten a warning after driving over 70 in a 40 and running 2-3 traffic lights once. I’ve gotten a warning for going 50 in a 30 and largely ignoring the flashing lights of the cop behind me until he accosted me at the gas station I’d stopped at.

Not yesterday. The cop handed me a speeding ticket, and warned me to slow down. My last speeding ticket was in 2007, so I cannot use my “get out of jail free card” that is offered to speeding drivers in Rhode Island. (You can use it every 3 years.)

I continued to drive to work, when a truck pulled out in front of me. The truck’s bed contained a pile of manure. I had the top down on my Jeep, and slowed my car so the foul aroma from the truck could dissipate. The truck hit a bump. The bumping dislodged a football size lump of manure. The football fumbled onto the hood of the Jeep and promptly splatted on the windshield. I cowered behind the steering wheel, and was fortunate in that none of the splat landed inside the car and onto me.

I turned on the windshield wipers and squired the washer fluid. The shit smeared back and forth on the glass. I squinted as I tried to see through the cow dung clouding my vision. I headed for the truck stop near the on ramp for the highway, nearly in tears.

Once at the gas station I grabbed the squeegee located near the pumps and tried to clean the shit off my car. I wandered from squeegee to squeegee looking for one that had water in its bucket. I washed the window, and attempted to clean off the hood. Really I managed to frost the hood of my car in poo. Luckily the gas station attendant spotted my predicament and let me pull around back to use the hose.

I rinsed the car and debated going the 5 miles back home to take a pre-cautionary shower. I examined myself in the reflection of the gas station’s windows, hoping I didn’t have a smear of dung on my back that I couldn’t detect. But that didn’t stop me from compulsively checking in the ladies’ room mirror at work.

Craptacular way to start the day!