So as luck would have it, I was (thanks to the comedy of errors comprising my morning) in danger of being late for work. I dispensed with the formality of 'looking good' because it is not necessary, considering what I do for a living (and the fact that I am no longer pressured by the task of finding a mate {thank you David}). I dressed, put on my uniform, strapped on my knives, grabbed my iPod and scampered out the door. (those of you who know me should be laughing at the mere Idea of my scampering ANYWHERE)
I climbed into my disturbingly filthy car and fired it up, put on my seat belt, turned my favorite Heather Little song up way too loud and sped down the driveway and down the road. I traveled approximately 2.2 miles when the frigging fuel light came on. Little beads of sweat began to form on my forehead, signifying that I was officially having a bad morning. I make my way to Highway 78 and turn southwestish, get up to about 70mph and just as I pass the "Hardware Store" (which is in quotes because it should be known as "This Pile of Crap Up Underneath All-O-These Here Tarps") I realize that the person in front of me, whose name could only be pronounced PEE-paw, was driving approximately twelve miles an hour in his DATSUN pickup. When I finally was able to see beyond the great black dragon of smoke billowing from the "muffler of yesteryear" I was less than pleased to see exactly 265,348 tractors coming down the oncoming lane, making me unable to pass PEE-paw. Now the veins on my neck are popping out.
Finally PEE-paw, moved the f&$* over so I could get on with my commute. I was caught by every traffic light from Farmersville to Sachse (yes, they are REAL towns) and finally got on the tollway. I push my Mustang up to about 80-something to rid myself of the last of PEE-paw's dragon and approached the first toll-plaza. In front of me was a VISION...to be sure. Imagine the love-child of Flo (from Mel's Diner) and Ed Asner. Yes...she was sitting at the 'coins-only' collection doohickey, cigarette (I'm guessing a Virginia Slim menthol) stuck between her lips and Gigantic plastic sunglasses (seriously they could have doubled as radio telescopes). The icing on the cake was the hair. Only some of it could fit out the window of her Caprice Classic (which was my two favorite colours: Primer and Scrape-Down) The hair, at least the visible portion, was the color of dried apricots.
FloAsner (sounds like a pharmaceutical) was throwing coins, one after another into the little receptacle. Her head would disappear and re-appear and each time, the car would lurch forward only to be stopped by a quick stomp of the breaks. Faster and faster her head and hand darted out of the window, each time moving her farther and farther from her 'target'. She looked like a Robotic Drag Queen Cuckoo Clock on Wheels, who happened to be fending off a (completely stationary) monster whose thirst for Cuckoo blood could only be slaked by a continuous stream of pennies. Finally, poor FloAsner ran out of change and then other things started to come out the window, wrappers, little bits of paper, a bottle cap. (It's kind of like running out of bullets and then throwing the gun, I guess).
Finally she gives up and, suddenly possessed by Dannica Patrick, PEALS out in what I guess was an attempt to outrun the camera. Apparently, the $3.21 in pennies and "stuff I found in the floorboard" was not enough to satisfy the North Texas Transit Authority Monster of Death.
Fortunately, I had four quarters and was laughing so hard that I didn't even care that I was 14 minutes late for work.
I climbed into my disturbingly filthy car and fired it up, put on my seat belt, turned my favorite Heather Little song up way too loud and sped down the driveway and down the road. I traveled approximately 2.2 miles when the frigging fuel light came on. Little beads of sweat began to form on my forehead, signifying that I was officially having a bad morning. I make my way to Highway 78 and turn southwestish, get up to about 70mph and just as I pass the "Hardware Store" (which is in quotes because it should be known as "This Pile of Crap Up Underneath All-O-These Here Tarps") I realize that the person in front of me, whose name could only be pronounced PEE-paw, was driving approximately twelve miles an hour in his DATSUN pickup. When I finally was able to see beyond the great black dragon of smoke billowing from the "muffler of yesteryear" I was less than pleased to see exactly 265,348 tractors coming down the oncoming lane, making me unable to pass PEE-paw. Now the veins on my neck are popping out.
Finally PEE-paw, moved the f&$* over so I could get on with my commute. I was caught by every traffic light from Farmersville to Sachse (yes, they are REAL towns) and finally got on the tollway. I push my Mustang up to about 80-something to rid myself of the last of PEE-paw's dragon and approached the first toll-plaza. In front of me was a VISION...to be sure. Imagine the love-child of Flo (from Mel's Diner) and Ed Asner. Yes...she was sitting at the 'coins-only' collection doohickey, cigarette (I'm guessing a Virginia Slim menthol) stuck between her lips and Gigantic plastic sunglasses (seriously they could have doubled as radio telescopes). The icing on the cake was the hair. Only some of it could fit out the window of her Caprice Classic (which was my two favorite colours: Primer and Scrape-Down) The hair, at least the visible portion, was the color of dried apricots.
FloAsner (sounds like a pharmaceutical) was throwing coins, one after another into the little receptacle. Her head would disappear and re-appear and each time, the car would lurch forward only to be stopped by a quick stomp of the breaks. Faster and faster her head and hand darted out of the window, each time moving her farther and farther from her 'target'. She looked like a Robotic Drag Queen Cuckoo Clock on Wheels, who happened to be fending off a (completely stationary) monster whose thirst for Cuckoo blood could only be slaked by a continuous stream of pennies. Finally, poor FloAsner ran out of change and then other things started to come out the window, wrappers, little bits of paper, a bottle cap. (It's kind of like running out of bullets and then throwing the gun, I guess).
Finally she gives up and, suddenly possessed by Dannica Patrick, PEALS out in what I guess was an attempt to outrun the camera. Apparently, the $3.21 in pennies and "stuff I found in the floorboard" was not enough to satisfy the North Texas Transit Authority Monster of Death.
Fortunately, I had four quarters and was laughing so hard that I didn't even care that I was 14 minutes late for work.
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