Tag Archives: threats

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Gods Of Asphalt

As a tribute to an online author friend, I’ve appropriated one of her book titles to describe one of my afternoon road adventures.

I left the daughter’s place, and headed for the Costco at the edge of town, to get gas.  I turned off the north-bound avenue, onto the west-bound one that will take me there.  A block ahead, a little Toyota Yaris is marooned at a red light.  I pull up beside him.

I was never much one for street drag-racing.  A 78-year-old man in a Kia Sorrento is not really the right equipment.  Still, I have good situational awareness.  When the light turns green, I do not linger long.  I was quickly a hundred yards ahead of him, watching him in my mirrors.  Soon, I could not only see him gaining on me, I could hear him.  Braaapp…. Braaapp!…. Braaappp!

It’s a standard – a manual transmission, with a gear-shift.  That’s rare.  I’m doing 70 in a 60 limit zone.  He passes me like I’m standing still, and races ahead, just in time to get caught at the next red light, where a street tees-in from the right.  Ahead of me in the center lane, is a single SUV.  Theoretically he should go straight ahead, but he’s got his left blinker on.  Just past the light, is a service-station.  He also wants fuel, but he’s going to be stranded out there until all the oncoming traffic, backed up at the light, clears.  I pull over behind the Yaris.

He pays attention to the traffic light on the cross-street.  When it turns orange, he starts to rev his engine – Vroom – Vroom – Vroom.  Well…. This is a Yaris – more like vrim,vrim,vrim.  When the light turns green, there’s a chirp – a little squeal of rubber.  The Yaris leaps forward about two feet – and dies!!  😆

My window is open.  I roar with laughter, and shout, “He stalled it!”  He must have heard me, because I got a V-peace sign waved out his window.  He quickly got it relit and soon we are both cruising at 70 again. I stayed in the curb lane for another two miles, until I reached one of the Region’s infamous roundabouts.  In fact, this particular rotary has the record of the most sideswipe collisions, caused by fools in the inner lane attempting to exit through the outer lane.  With my eyes firmly fixed on traffic, that’s where I want to be.

On the other side of the roundabout, the curb lane only continues for a block, to another traffic light, where it exits into a plaza, and the road narrows.  Cars are backed up from a red light, almost to the rotary.  I need to get over to the center.  Immediately upon exiting, I signal a lane-change, and slide a lane to my left, coming to a quivering halt inches from a Chevy.

The light changes.  We all move forward. I drive to Costco, and sit in another line to pump gas.

Finally, it’s my turn.  Actually, it’s a double drive-through.  I proceed to the forward pump, and someone pulls in behind me.  I start pumping gas, and all of a sudden – I have a PAKI in my face!

Do you know you cut me off back there at the roundabout?  You pulled in front of me and slammed on your brakes.  I had to stop suddenly.  You didn’t have to do that. You had lots of room to proceed.
ARE YOU CRAZY??
ARE YOU STONED??
ARE YOU ON DRUGS??!

I had lots of room to proceed – if I wanted to pull into the plaza, but that’s not where I wanted to go.  He should have learned a valuable lesson about roundabouts.  The guy in the outside lane gets the best spot.  The nerve!!  The utter gall!!  The absolute arrogance, to accost me (or anyone else) while pumping gas, because traffic didn’t work out the way he wanted it to.  He was in his mid/late twenties, driving a BMW.  I suppose that I should have been generous, and assumed that he worked in IT, but all I could think was, he deals drugs and/or pimps out his sisters and mother.

I know that a soft answer turneth away wrath, but ya wanna know how to really piss someone like this off?  Ignore them!  Show them that they are beneath contempt, and not worth your time or energy.  Doo-de-doo, doo-de-doo, pumping gas, pumping gas.  And they can’t even justify escalating the argument – or so I thought?!

As he started walking away, suddenly he turned back and….
You will pay for this one day.  God will judge you.  You will die and God will punish you for your actions.  You will not go to Heaven.  You know what you have done.
So you’re bringing God into this??  Now I’m scared.
You just keep talking.
No thanks.  You’re doing enough talking for both of us.
God will get you!  You can’t escape His wrath.

I didn’t know that the God business was going so poorly that He had to work part-time as a traffic cop.  When I was finished, I walked over to his car, and said, “Which god??  Vishnu??”
Huh? Wha?? Mmh, aahh…  You will answer to Him!  You can’t escape your fate!

I could make an old-time, Bing Crosby/Bob Hope movie out of this, a two-act comedy titled Road To Costco.  A local driver was recently charged with threatening three other drivers with a gun in one morning.  I’ve never been threatened with God before – at least, not like this.  Have any of you?  😕

 

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A Phish Out Of Water

The other day, while I was out being threatened (More on that later), the wife was being phished. Since the son and I were out running errands, she took advantage of our absence to sit at the PC in the computer room, and pay some bills online.

She had just accessed the bank’s website, and was viewing activity on our account for the last 30 days, when the phone rang. Jane Doe? Yes?? This is Walter, at the accounting department of XYZ Bank. I want to talk about a $200 deposit that was made to your account, 11 AM, on June 18.

She wisely said that she’d check into it, and would call him back. What was his number? The bank’s accounting department would be in Toronto, with a 416 area code. He gave her a local, 519 number. What extension?? Oh, that’s a direct line.

She scrolled up the page and, of course, there was no such deposit. She tried calling his number back. We’re sorry. The number you have called is equipped for outgoing calls only. It was worrying that this scammer knew her name, which is not listed in the phone book, and the fact that we banked with XYZ. We paranoidly shred everything that has a name or address on it, to the point that a Christmas present from the son, was a new cross-cut shredder which makes confetti.

She called the bank’s 1-800 customer service number, and reported the incident. They said they’d look into it, but it’s like trying to nail Jell-O to the wall.

Meanwhile…. I’d had a Tri-Fecta week.

Shopping cart

A woman in a grocery store had backed into my cart, and apparently hit her elbow. Ow! Ow! Ow! – WELL?? Well what? Are you going to apologise? NO!

I left another store a couple of days later, and went to climb into my car. Suddenly, the owner of the van to my left, leaned past his windshield and yelled, “Take it easy on my van! It’s brand new, and I don’t want it all scratched up.” Uh, Okay…. “I told you, don’t scratch my van!” I didn’t – I didn’t touch it. “I’m warning you. Take it easy on my van.” Even with my door fully open, it doesn’t touch your van by two inches. Take a look. “Just watch yourself! I warned you to stay away from my van. I hate ignorant cocksuckers like you.” (My mind is made up; don’t confuse me with the facts.) and climbed in and roared away.

The coup de grace came on Saturday morning. When the son got home from work, we went out together to do some shopping and errands. As we finished the last, it was nearing lunch time, and he offered to treat, at a Subway shop.

We followed a family in, parents early 30s, boys 6 and 8, and waited patiently as they all worked their way down the counter, picking out toppings. Dad went first, then the excited, indecisive boys, followed by mom in ballerina mode, arms akimbo, hands on hips, swiveling back and forth, making decisions.

She finally made her last choice (Swiss cheese) and moved up to the register, where dad was paying. I moved up, and started giving my choices, when she and her Tai Chi elbows came dancing back. I tried to back out of her way, but one of her flying elbows just touched my ample tummy.

Being the well-mannered Canadian that I am, I said, “Oops, I’m sorry.”, and she danced away again. I continued picking stuff for my sandwich as hubby spoke to her….or so I thought. Suddenly I heard, “Hey! I’m talking to you!” Wha’?? “Watch what the fuck yer doin’! That’s just fucking disrespectful. I oughta slap the shit outta you!”

So, he’s taught the boys that it’s okay to use foul language in public and threaten people, all 5’ 8”, and 150 lbs. of him. A lover, not a fighter, and almost 71, I think I could have taken him, because it would not have been a fair fight. If not, I brought along my son, The Bear. At 6’ 2”, and 275 lbs. he could just squeeze this mouthy idiot’s head till all the shit ran out his ears.

As they headed for a table, he leaned in and hissed, “Yer just lucky I had the wife along today.” which, while not the dumbest thing I’d heard all week, was well up in the top ten. If he hadn’t had the Prima Ballerina, she wouldn’t have bumped into me, and this whole damned drama scene wouldn’t have occurred. Shit, take your meds, and attend those court-ordered anger management sessions!

Then he sat down with the wife he was so worried about, pulled out his smart phone, and proceeded to ignore her and his sons while he phoned three friends to set up a golf game the next day, and then play Candy Crush.

As the President of the local Grumpy Old Dude Association, I’d like to claim that I’m an irritating old turd, and own these, but:

You weren’t watching where you were going, and walked into my cart. I didn’t touch your vehicle! Open your eyes and look.
Your wife backed into me – and I apologised.

If these had valid causes, I’d blame them on urban overcrowding pressure. What in Hell causes people to get so angry and aggressive about imaginary slights and insults?

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