On Monday, while suffering from a horrible head cold I caught on a
plane, I trudged out in my gigantic black puffy parka to walk the pup. It was
an attempt at normalcy as I sneezed, sniffed and snorted out an ungodly amount
of…never mind, enough said.
Anyway, off we went, the pup at a happy trot, me sluggishly trailing
behind. We walked up one street, the pup sniffing and marking his territory, me
blowing my nose, eyes tearing from repeated sneezing. We continued along in
this fashion until we got to East 58th Street, which turns into a
weird, one-block, lane-less free for all during rush hour as cars simultaneously
try to jam their way onto the Queensboro Bridge or head further east for…I don’t
know, breakfast doughnuts.
It was in this Thunderdomic stretch of block that the pup
decided to really get down to business. As dutiful as can be, he headed to the
curb for his intent sniffing of the perfect spot while I wiped my nose on
my puffy sleeve. It was then that a horror-on-wheels started beeping maniacally
as she barreled toward us, Cannonball-Run style. She was intent on cramming her
four-wheeled hell machine into a space it couldn’t fit, and for her to do that,
she needed the curb, you see. Also, it was a red light she was racing to stop
at.
So, I yank the pup away, process what was happening (snot
now dripping down my face) and then realized that this hellacious driver
stopped her tin can three feet ahead of where the pup and I stood (eyes at this
point watering out of fury). Again, it bears mentioning, she was stopped at a
red light. Not only that, but she was typing away at her Blackberry. In other
words, a captive audience to whatever I had to say to her.
For the three people who read this blog, you’ll recall that
my patience runs out pretty fast with driving mishaps. It runs out doubly fast
when I’m nearly run over with the pup.
So I stood where she could see me. Admittedly, I looked like
a cross between the grim reaper (sans scythe) and Dan Ackroyd in Trading Places
when he’s dressed up like Santa Claus (I’m referring to the hair, not the salmon).
There, on the sidewalk, snot dripping down my face, eyes watering, I looked at
her, gave her a two thumbs up and said, “Great job! YOU ARE AWESOME!” At which point I raised my arms above my head as if at a
sporting event and yelled, “YEAH!” And then, the cold medicine clearly
doing all the talking, I pointed at her,
“THAT’S THE STUFF! YOU ROCK!”
Green light. She sped off.
I think the sarcasm made it through the passenger’s side
window, which was closed. Also, I’m certain she thought I was crazy—will blame
that on the cold medicine. The point here is, I considered the moment--however bizarre, medicine-induced and off-kilter it was--to be one of
personal growth. Why? Because nary an expletive was used. It's the small victories in life.
So, today is Friday and I’ve stopped wishing that woman’s thumbs
to fall off (another great leap forward). Also, my cold is gone—just in time
for the weekend! Used properly, cold medicine can indeed be a transformative thing.
Oh. My. God. This is so funny.
ReplyDeleteYay to getting over road rage and getting rid of a cold! :)
Ha! Thanks :)
ReplyDeleteNary an expletive? What did you do with my New Yorker?? I was waiting for you to pick up a garbage can and hurl it through her window ... you're slacking. :-)
ReplyDeleteVery Funny. Snorted in an unladylike manner.
ReplyDeleteYou showed great restraint. If someone tried to run over my dog I would struggle not to run after them with a pitchfork!