I’m Not Going Outside Anymore

I’m pretty sure that it’s officially safe to say it: I’m not going outside anymore. I’m done. No More. Game over.

The reason for my frustration lies with the fact that every time that I have left my apartment over the last few days, I’ve had a dangerous automobile related experience, none of which were my fault. It’s not enough that these occurrences endangered my life, but then in each and every case, I was chastised for my actions. Needless to say, it was a rather depressing, not to mention confusing weekend.

On Saturday morning I needed to run some errands so I got in my car and ventured out with the simple goal of making it to the shopping plaza located across the street from my apartment. I pulled into the far left lane and awaited my green arrow light, preparing to make my U-turn. Now, let me say that in Florida, U-turns are not illegal; in fact they are downright necessary in order to get to wherever it is that you are going. Without U-turns then all drivers would end up in horrible places like the bad parts of town or Nebraska. To help with this necessity, whenever there is a turn arrow at a busy intersection, all of the other lanes are treated to a giant light emblazoned with either the image of an arrow pointed to the right with a gigantic red X through it, or they see a lit sign that says something to the effect of “No Right Turn on Red. EVER. I’m serious on this one.” My light turned green and as I slowly began easing into my U-turn, a silver Cavalier came flying around the corner and swung a right turn on red at approximately forty miles an hour. The individual behind the wheel held no regard for me, no regard for the traffic laws, and definitely no regard for all for the bright fluorescent signs that explicitly instructed the driver not to what they were doing.

Everything started moving in slow motion as I rounded into the U-turn and watched the car head straight toward my passenger side door. Just as contact was about to be made and my insurance company about to be telephoned, they slammed on the breaks and came to a screeching halt just centimeters from my vehicle. I made eye contact with the other driver and as my retinas connected with those of a forty-something woman with frazzled blonde hair, and a sneer on her face, she did what another other sane and rational person would do after nearly causing a major traffic accident and began to honk at me furiously. I could see her mouth moving rapidly, but thankfully I was unable to hear the profanity that was likely spilling out of the gaping hole in her face and flooding the cab of her car, suffocating her in her own stupidity. Even at a distance it was quite obvious that she fully believed that I was at fault and under the stress of almost having the right side of my car pushed into my lap paired with the incessant honking that now filled my ears, my body took on a mind of its own and before I knew it, I was staring her dead in the eyes, and the middle finger of my right hand was fully erect and being offered out in her general direction. Had I been mid-test in a Florida defensive driving class, I can almost guarantee I would have passed with flying colors.

On Sunday I decided that I needed to leave the apartment again. This was a big mistake. Thinking that nothing bad could possibly happen, I walked out into the apartment parking lot at the same time as another resident. He nodded a hello in my general direction and then climbed behind the wheel of a big SUV. Being that my car was on the other side of his, it was clear that I would have to stride behind his vehicle in order to reach my destination. Without giving it much thought, I walked behind his gas guzzler right as he started to reverse. Suddenly I was faced with the back of the man’s Denali coming straight for me. It wasn’t as though he had begun to back up and I had intentionally put myself in harm’s way, but rather the vehicle did not even initiate motion until I was right in the cross hairs. Before I could consider whether or not this was all actually happening, I slammed my hand onto his back window in a feeble attempt to stop the several ton vehicle. Thankfully, he quickly hit the brakes and I hurried out from behind the madman still desperately trying to reach my own car. As I passed behind the rear driver’s side, he rolled down his window and not so nicely suggested to me that I “watch where the hell I was going.”

I wanted to pause and explain to him that it was absolutely normal for most certified drivers to hit the gas while in reverse without first checking to see what obstacles might be located in their rear-view mirrors, but my adrenaline was pumping pretty intensely and I was worried that I might jumble my words and lose some of the sarcastic timing that I had planned for the delivery.

The last straw came on Monday when once again, I made the mistake of getting into my car and leaving my apartment complex. I found myself at a four-way stop that’s a regular staple of my travels. I’d never had any problems there, since to my knowledge, most drivers know the rule about four-way stops that dictates that whoever gets there first goes through first. It’s not, nor has it ever been rocket science. I pulled up to the stop sign, came to a complete halt and noticed that I was the only one in line. The only other vehicle that I could even see was a police car that was still a good one hundred yards away from the sign. I eased out into the intersection to continue on my way when all of the sudden, the police car, no lights or sirens flashing, failed to stop at the stop sign and instead sped right through it, barreling toward my car. I hit the gas in an effort to remove myself from harm’s way and was treated to the whooping of the police siren. I slowed and pulled up alongside my vehicle, pausing to holler, “If you do that again, you are getting a ticket!”

It took a lot of effort, but I managed to keep my middle finger in check.

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