I'm Turning Here

This may turn into a curmudgeon rant. Give me a minute and we'll see how it develops.

I hate, I absolutely despise, when people waiting at street corners to cross the street feel as though they must, they simply must, mind you, get as much of a head start on hiking across that street as possible. I don't see any other reason why they would crowd the roadway the way they do.

As I approached Warren Avenue yesterday intending to turn right onto Trumbull, this nimrod stood more than on the corner. His toes were hanging off the cement and over the street. But here I am driving on Warren and needing the curb lane to turn, where I have the right of way mind you, yet if I get close enough to him to do that I risk brushing him back or clipping the guy with a bumper. I had to stay partially in traffic, blocking the second lane by about half, or I may have brushed against the man.

I should have been able to hit him, if there were any real justice in the world. Get the hell back away from the street when you aren't in the act of crossing it, Bullwinkle. That hacked me off.

Now, was I curmudgeon enough, or  nowhere nearly enough?

A polite no thank you would have sufficed

Years ago I knew a man whom I'll call Cloyce just to give him a name. He seemed like a good guy, though he spoke in broken English with an accent I never could place. We would see each other occasionally at neighborhood meetings and such.

One day while making small talk before an event he told me that he walked everywhere he went. I didn't think much of it at the time: he could do what he wanted on that count, right? But one night after a meeting it was raining rather hard. Very hard, in fact. Remembering his habit, I offered Cloyce a ride home. In my car, of course.

A look of complete horror flew into his eyes. "No, no, no," he protested vehemently. "Cars bad, cars crash, people die. No, no no." But then he realized the situation and said, trying apparently to mollify me (I was not insulted but I understand his concern) he said, "You're nice man. Nice to offer ride. But no. Cars bad, bad, bad." He raised an umbrella and walked on out into the storm.

All I can think is, he must have had one bad experience with cars. Either that, or he'd heard about my driving.

Hah. I beat every one of you to that punchline, didn't I?

Don't know, don't care

A car, me old Grandpa Joe always said, is good for one thing and one thing only: to get you from point A to point B. That's all it's good for; there ain't no style points.

To be sure, as those of you who knew him will attest, he took the idea to an extreme. He drove vehicles which he probably should have not. Yet I think his basic idea is well and true. It taught me, rightly, I will assert, not to care too much for what I drive.

Consequently I tend to have cars with quirks. Take my current van, for example. If you hit the gas too hard when you pull away from the curb or a traffic light, it rumbles before smoothing out and going on. But when I accelerate easily, it does just fine. Why? Don't know, don't care. It gets me from A to B and that's it's job.

The door ajar and check engine lights stay on constantly. Why? Don't know, don't care. The old girl starts every time and that's all I need her to do.

Sometimes when I roll the driver's window down it won't roll back up. But when I restart the engine it rolls back up. Why? Don't know, don't care. It rolls back up. That's good enough.

Joe's right. It's just a car. And it does what I need it to does. That's good enough for me. If it ain't good enough for you, I can live with that.