I was 18  or 19 years old, driving home in the dark evening. I came to an intersection in town where I needed to turn left. Across the intersection, facing my direction, was a car that apparently was going to go straight across, past me on my left. On the left side of the intersection was another car that apparently was going to go straight across from my left to my right. We were all stopped, waiting for for our lights to turn green.

When my light turned green (solid green, not a left arrow), I pulled out a bit and waited for the car across the intersection to go past. I waited for several seconds, plenty of time for the car to start. But the other car just sat there. I thought, Well maybe he has a red light, and I can go.

After I felt like I had waited more than half the light cycle, I went. I moved fully into the intersection and turned left. It was in the middle of my turn that the car across from me decided to move. (I don’t know if he just wasn’t paying attention and didn’t notice his light was green before, or what.) The car started off and then slammed on his breaks to keep from hitting me. What melodrama, I thought. What an idiot.

It was then, as I passed, I noticed that the car that had been on the left side of the intersection was a town cop. He made the mistake of turning on his lights prematurely. He was facing the opposite direction and would have to pull into the intersection to turn around. Some strange, wild idea came over me: I could escape while he turned around. I could see him in my rear-view mirror trying to make a three-point turn. That would take him several seconds.

This intersection was on the edge of downtown, and there were plenty of criss-crossing streets for me to cut down. I immediately turned down one street. I sped down a ways, then turned onto another street, then onto another. I quickly found a street with several cars parked on it, and I zipped in between a couple. I turned out the lights, cut off the car, slid down in my seat, and listened to the siren approaching.

Peering just over the door lock, I saw the flashing lights and heard the siren pass down a street one block over. I waited about five minutes before moving. Then I started my car, turned on my lights, and continued my journey home.

I was rather surprised at myself, not only for pulling off that evasion, but that I had even tried it. I can’t believe that I even had the thought go through my head. I’m not that kind of guy, even as a teenager. I could have gotten in serious trouble for that action.

But I was mad at the guy in the car across the intersection from me for just sitting there and not moving when he had a green light and I was waiting to turn. I felt like he did something stupid, but I was going to pay the price for it. I was not impatient, I was not being reckless, or anything like that. I was trying to follow the rules, but his mistake made me make a mistake, and when the cop turned on his lights, the combination of anger and fear prodded me into taking a major, and unadvised, risk.

But, I came out of it alive, without a ticket (or an arrest), and with a funny story to tell. My boys better never pull a stunt like that when they drive.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

On my drive home from my hometown, at night, I watched a major thunderstorm brewing on the horizon. I watched amazing lightning displays for about 10 minutes before reaching the rain. Once in the rain, I had to slow down to about 40 miles an hour. Lightning continued to strike every few seconds, and some flashes were so bright as to momentarily blind me in the white light. I’ve never experienced that before. Was pretty cool in a scary kind of way.

At one point, while I was on an overpass through the middle of a moderate-sized town, with a shopping center on the left and another shopping center on the right, there was a lightning strike followed by the loudest boom I had heard so far. Immediately following the strike, all the lights on the left side over the highway went out. The only light was from the cars driving through the parking lots. The store lights, parking lot lights, signs, and traffic lights all went dark. I’ve never seen that from such a vantage point before, either. Was even cooler than the blinding flash (mainly because it didn’t carry the danger of me crashing my car).

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

Location: Mom’s new house, hometown.

Setup: I’ve just gotten back from getting breakfast. Cowgrit is in the back of the house talking with my mom, and the boys are somewhere back there, too.

Scene: The doorbell rang and I could see, through the glass, storm door, an old woman standing on the porch. I didn’t know her. I stepped around the corner and tell my mom that someone’s at the door. (I didn’t know if Mom was dressed and ready for a visitor, and I don’t know everyone she knows — this could be a friend or a stranger, and having stepped around the corner, I saw that Mom was not yet showered and ready for a guest. Even I was dressed in old shorts and t-shirt, ready for a lot of physical work.)

I opened the door. “Hello.”

“Hello,” the woman said. She told me her name and “I live across the street. I just wanted to stop by and welcome our new neighbor to the community.”

She was nicely dressed, like for visiting, and she was very sweet. But my first thought was that one really should wait a few days before dropping in on a new neighbor. My mom had just moved in 48 hours before, and although the foyer and den were arranged, the rest of the house was still cluttered with furniture and boxes.

I conversed with her for a minute while holding the door open. I tried to hint that now was not a good time for a visit. I told her that my mom was in the shower and wasn’t available right then, but that apparently didn’t mean anything to this woman. I told her my mom’s name, and mine, and said that I would tell that she stopped by. But she still didn’t get the hint.

The woman asked if she could come in. I wanted to say, “no,” because as I’d explained, my mom was not washed and dressed for the day yet and the house was a mess and we were about to sit down for breakfast. But I didn’t want to be rude or unfriendly because I didn’t want my mom to have to deal with the repercussions if I pissed off a new neighbor. Then I thought, well maybe if I let her in the foyer, she’ll see the house is in the middle of a move in, and the situation would “click” in her brain.

“OK,” I answered, and let her in the door. The lady came on in through the foyer and into the den. For a moment I was worried she was about to go cruising through the house, but then she stopped in front of the sofa. I explained, again, that we were still getting everything moved in and arranged, and that my mom was not availabe right now, that I’d tell her of the visit, and that I had just brought home breakfast for my family (who were all out of sight in the back of the house somewhere).

But the lady just started chatting about how she used to visit the previous woman who lived in the house, how her husband had died of a heart attack, how her dog had recently died, and how all the neighborhood dogs came to her house for treats. All very sweet, but I kept throwing out hints, clues, and direct statements that now was not a good time for a visit. The lady actually sat down on the sofa.

I still didn’t want to be rude, for my mom’s reputation, but I had said everything to this woman short of “Please, you must leave, now.” Really, even direct explanations didn’t work. “Well, I really appreciate you coming by to say hello, and I’ll tell my mom. I’m sure she’ll want to meet you soon, but she’s in the shower and my family is about to sit down and eat breakfast.” I had pointed out the breakfast on the table at least twice.

“Oh,” she said, “well, please, don’t let me stop you.”

You have got to be kidding, I thought. This situation had gone on for about five minutes, already. I was one breath away from saying, “You have to leave now.” But, instead, I called for Cowgrit and the boys.

Cowgrit came into the room. She and Mom had been one room away, quietly waiting for the lady to leave. When I introduced Cowgrit to the lady, Cowgrit went through the same explanations that I had, and she got the same reaction. The lady continued to sit there on the sofa, telling her neighborly stories.

Cowgrit’s intervention allowed me to step back a moment and think about the situation. What would be the probable result if I straight told this woman to leave? She’s obviously a neighborhood talker. She’s mentioned that she regularly chats with all the neighbors. That could mean that the neighborhood’s first impression of my mom could be formed by this woman’s report of this encounter. Damn, I couldn’t just take her wrist and pull her out. But then again, maybe the whole neighborhood thinks this woman is wacko. The risk is too great for my mom’s reputation.

When Cowgrit managed to talk the lady into standing up from the sofa, I rejoined the conversation. I needed to support Cowgrit in whatever she was saying to get the woman moving in the right direction. It took another couple of minutes, but Cowgrit managed to lead her to the front door. Cowgrit opened the door and held it open for the woman while they continued to talk. Eventually, the woman got to the door, and finally back out to the front porch.

At last, when the woman walked off the porch, and Cowgrit closed the door (glass and wood) behind her, I asked, “What did you say to her that I didn’t?” Cowgrit had pretty much just said and acted exactly like I had. She didn’t know how she got the woman to stand, but once that accomplishment had been made, she worked the turn of the encounter all the way to the door.

We went back and checked on my mom, who had heard some of the conversation. We were all dumbfounded as to how the lady just could not catch the hints and clues, or understand the direct statements I had given.

Later during the day, I saw two neighbors stop by the woman’s house and chat for a few minutes. I wondered if and what she was telling them about her attempt to visit the new neighbor.

The woman was very sweet, and we figure she’s probably very lonely. I’m glad I didn’t go rude, but dear God, that was aggravating — in a sweet, polite, and friendly way.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

On my way home from my mom’s house, I saw a gas station selling unleaded regular gas for $3.48. I checked my gas gauge, and fortunately I was just under half a tank. (It’s says something about something that one would consider himself “fortunate” to need gas at $3.48/gallon.) Unfortunately, to get into the gas station, I had to do a U-turn around a median. I performed the maneuver and didn’t notice that the station lot was full of cars waiting in lines. (It was after dark and traffic was pretty heavy, that’s why I didn’t see the congestion until already committed to the pull in.)

This station was selling gas on the cheap because a new station had opened down the street, and as a gimmick to get people in for the grand opening, it was selling gas cheap. I was third car in line after the person currently at the pump. When I was next in line, I saw the guy ahead of me pump gasoline all over the ground because apparently the auto-stop didn’t work. “I’ll have to keep my eye on that,” I said to myself.

When it was my turn to pull up to the pump, I made sure to stop in such a position that I wouldn’t have to stand in the puddle of gasoline — didn’t want to track that into my car. I got out, swiped my debit card and pulled the nozzle off the pump. Gasoline erupted from the nozzle as soon as I lifted it from the cradle. Dammit! I thought I managed to shift my feet out from under it in time to avoid getting my shoes.

I pumped my gas, stopping at six gallons, thinking that was enough to fill the tank without overflowing like the guy before me did. I hopped into my car and made my way back to the direction that would take me home. My gas gauge showed a full tank, and I was happy with my twenty-one dollars worth of gas. But then I started smelling gasoline in my car. Oh damn.

Some of that spilling gas must have fell on my shoes. I put the car on cruise control, and then removed my right shoe. I ran my window down and stuck my shoe out in the wind. I held it out in the 55 mph air for a minute and then brought it back into the car. I dropped the shoe into the passenger side floor, and then repeated the process with my left shoe. I didn’t smell gasoline after that, so I guessed it worked to blow the stench off

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com