Friday, July 18, 2008

Parking lot idiot

Wednesday I took off work to get some more done on my bathroom (the tub and shower are installed and functioning, praise the Lord!) That afternoon, after visiting Paradise Park and Culvers with the family, we stopped by Lowe's to check out some faucets and such. I was walking lead and my youngest daughter was next to me, holding my wife's hand and the other two were in tow. We walked down the isle of cars towards the door and, as we neared the island that divides the 'road' going between the isles and the front of the store, a truck suddenly whisked down our isle. He, turned right, clipped the curb short and drew very close to us. Not only did I have to stop walking, I actually had to step back, as did my wife and daughter. I stood and stared at this long, black bed, edging closer and closer to me, till he finally straightened out and passed.

We proceeded into the store where what had just happened finally sunk in. I've already had up to here (about the 5'10" mark) with the degenerates who bandy about this city. I decided I couldn't let this one pass- he almost hit my little girl.

I went out through the doors and met the driver and his friend in the lot and the conversation went thusly:

[I will abbreviate the driver as "AH", because he looked a lot like an Arthur Henderson.)

(me) "Excuse me, sir, you almost hit my little girl."
(AH) "Well if I did it was because she walked into it."
(me) "No sir, you clipped that curb and just about ran into all of us. She had to stop and step back."
(AH) "Then she needs to pay more attention to where she's walking."
(me) "What?! So you're blaming a little girl? It's her fault that your crappy driver?"

[I was already angry, but at this point, I start coming a bit unravelled. Note, this was an older guy and obviously a "good ol' boy". So I press on...)

(me) "Have you ever drove anything that big before?"
(AH)[with smugness] "I've drove eighteen wheelers my whole life!"
(me) "Well you drive like you've never been in anything but a Toyota before."
(AH)[with irritation] "Well you sound like a [indiscernable mumbling]."
(me) "A what? I sound like a what? [pause] I sound like an angry father!!"

[at this point we're in the store and I'm sure that I was visibly and audibly upset]

(AH) "Well what do you want me to do?!"
(me) "Well an apology would be nice!"
(AH) "Okay- I'm sorry. But you need to do a better job of watching your kids."

[mom heard that one, he's lucky to be alive at this point]

(me) "She's alive because we were watching her, jackass! I ought to go get your license plate and call you in for wreckless driving you jerk..."

At that point, my wife grabbed my shoulder and asked what, precisely, I intended to do or had hoped to accomplish from here on out. Good point, so I digressed. It took about 20 min to quit shaking and another 20 or so for the fog to clear out. Adrenaline is such a powerful drug. The thought did cross my mind that it would be "fun" to buy a 20# sledge hammer and, uhm, do some work on his truck. But that was a passing fancy. I knew better.

Had the shoe been on the other foot, I would be thoroughly horrified to know that I even "almost" hit a child. Beware, bikers! If this guy has no compassion for the absolute cutest little girl in the world (sorry, fellow-dads), then what does he think about you?!

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