Don't Get Mad, Get Even

My evening commute home from work is usually about 15 minutes, 20 if I hit traffic. Hitting traffic is considered having to sit through more than one red light. Yes, I know how lucky how I am. :-)

So the other night after work I am sitting in traffic, having sat through the same red light three times. Normally this would have me a tad bit salty, but it was a nice fall evening, I had windows down, the radio up...life was good. When you're sitting in traffic like that there isnt a whole lot to do so I people watched. The guy in the Audi to the left of me was having an animated cell phone conversation. The lady in the crossover behind me reinforcing her hair helmet armed with her aerosol can of hair spray. A teenager kid in a beat up pick up truck pounding out a musical beat on his steering wheel. "The Devil Went Down to Georgia" came on the radio, forcing me to bust out the air fiddle. Yes. I played the air fiddle. In my car. While stuck in traffic. Don't judge me.

Traffic finally started to move, I made it to the light, it was green so I went. Now I am pretty sure that green means go so imagine my surprise when a candy apple red Mustang ran the red light. The driver? A young bleached hair, tie dyed shirt wearing young girl waving her perfectly french manicured middle finger at me while yelling obscenities. (Um, hi, YOU ran the red light.) Now I get mad. Not only did she come ttthhhiiisss close to hitting me but she also ruined a perfectly good air fiddle routine. I interrupted my air fiddle playing to honk the horn, yell a few choice words back. I did however, let her drive past because I like my car in its usual undented state. We proceed at a snails pace down the road. As far as I am concerned the incident is over (well except my disappointment that I have at this point missed the end of the song). There was no metal on metal, no one was hurt, sure she had left some of her tire tread on the road but thats really not my problem. Well apparently, Tie Dyed Barbie in front of me had a different idea, she continued to flip me the bird and scream out of her window at me. I turned the radio up and ignored her. Then I noticed her license plate, its a familiar one the first three letters of a name and an 09 which I assumed signified a graduation year. Its a plate that I recognized and typically see a few blocks from my house. Struck by a moment of sheer genius, I proceeded to pull out my cell and make a few phone calls. Finally traffic evens out and Tie Dyed Barbie is off like a shot.

Within a few minutes of being home thanks to some old classmates I used to drink and maybe did a few other unmentionable things with back in high school connections with the town police department I quickly learned who Tie Dyed Barbie's car was registered to--a well know small town last name, where they lived--just a few blocks from me, and their phone number--SCORE. At first I was just planning on calling, but as Big T was making dinner she discovered a missing ingredient so off to the store I went. My diva dog decided she needed to go with me. I just so happened to be passing Tie Dyed Barbies block and I can see her Dear Old Dad out doing yard work. WOOHOO! I quickly devise a plan to park around the corner, pretend to be walking my dog (thank you Sandy for deciding you needed a ride), and would just strike up a conversation. I park the car, explain Sandy's role to her and Operation Make A Teenagers Life Hell commences.

As my dog and I walk past Dear Old Dad says hi, what a pretty dog I have, and asks how my evening is going. Perfect opportunity to tell Dear Old Dad about a completely belligerent, ignorant driver who nearly took out the front end of my car then had the audacity to continue ranting and raving the entire time we were in traffic. I mention it was a car I recognized as belonging to someone on the block as I've noticed it around, maybe it was neighbor of his. The look on his face when I told him it was a red mustang was good. The look on his face when I told him what the vanity plate said was even better. Dear Old Dad apologized up one side and down the other for his little Tie Dyed Barbie who I would later learn was his stepdaughter. He wanted to know all the details, what she was yelling, etc. (I may or may not have added a few things.)

The icing on the cake? When Tie Dyed Barbie herself came out to tell him she was going out to see how many other vehicles she could run off the road to dinner. Dear Old Dad laid into Tie Dyed Barbie and I confidently knew my work there was done. As Sandy and I were walking back down the block I could hear Barbie crying and Dear Old Dad's voice getting louder. I can also proudly say that the Mustang with the vanity plate is parked in the carport behind their house covered with a car cover, where I hope it will stay for a very long time. I am also secretly hoping that Tie Dyed Barbie was forced to face the ultimate in high school humiliation and take the bus to school.

Moral of the story? I don't get mad, I get even. (Oh, and really, please don't interrupt my air fiddling!)