Mass Pike - 4 a.m.
The New England Journal of Medicine reports that not a single pathological behavior has been treated via highway hypnosis. Can we afford to wait for the cure?
It all started when I passed what must have been the 37th eighteen wheeler between milemarkers 91 and 92. I wasn't going all that fast, but I had places to see and people to go, therefore I signalled, accelerated, waited for the truck's headlights to appear in my rear view mirror, and then, after signalling again, I courteously pulled back into the right lane. After a minute or two the headlights grew dimmer and more distant. Truck #38 wouldn't be far away.
But truck #37 must have thought that we had missed out on what could have been a beautiful friendship. He inched back into my rear view mirror and my consciousness, and pretty soon it was all I could see or think about.
I wondered what I might have done to offend this guy. I didn't think I had violated any Mass Pike laws of etiquette (not that there are many) when I passed him. I tried to pretend not to care, but the glow of the truck's headlights against the back of my head had the effect of some Cro Magnon Man breathing against the back of my neck. In short, I freaked out.
I was doing between 70 and 75 at the time. I stepped on the gas and hit 85 in about 30 seconds. I tried to hold it between 85 and 90, passing trucks #38 through #47 in the next few minutes. When I reached my exit, I deliberately turned onto it at the last possible second, screeching my tires and otherwise calling upon every ounce of driving skill I possessed to avoid flipping over. I skidded and swerved and screamed and swore for what seemed like hours, but it was all over in a few seconds. After confirming that no one was behind me, I took a deep breath and passed through the toll booth at exactly 15 miles per hour, proceeding down I-84 at a comfortable speed.
I couldn't have been more alone.
The New England Journal of Medicine reports that not a single pathological behavior has been treated via highway hypnosis. Can we afford to wait for the cure?
It all started when I passed what must have been the 37th eighteen wheeler between milemarkers 91 and 92. I wasn't going all that fast, but I had places to see and people to go, therefore I signalled, accelerated, waited for the truck's headlights to appear in my rear view mirror, and then, after signalling again, I courteously pulled back into the right lane. After a minute or two the headlights grew dimmer and more distant. Truck #38 wouldn't be far away.
But truck #37 must have thought that we had missed out on what could have been a beautiful friendship. He inched back into my rear view mirror and my consciousness, and pretty soon it was all I could see or think about.
I wondered what I might have done to offend this guy. I didn't think I had violated any Mass Pike laws of etiquette (not that there are many) when I passed him. I tried to pretend not to care, but the glow of the truck's headlights against the back of my head had the effect of some Cro Magnon Man breathing against the back of my neck. In short, I freaked out.
I was doing between 70 and 75 at the time. I stepped on the gas and hit 85 in about 30 seconds. I tried to hold it between 85 and 90, passing trucks #38 through #47 in the next few minutes. When I reached my exit, I deliberately turned onto it at the last possible second, screeching my tires and otherwise calling upon every ounce of driving skill I possessed to avoid flipping over. I skidded and swerved and screamed and swore for what seemed like hours, but it was all over in a few seconds. After confirming that no one was behind me, I took a deep breath and passed through the toll booth at exactly 15 miles per hour, proceeding down I-84 at a comfortable speed.
I couldn't have been more alone.
It all started when I passed what must have been the 37th eighteen wheeler between milemarkers 91 and 92. I wasn't going all that fast, but I had places to see and people to go, therefore I signalled, accelerated, waited for the truck's headlights to appear in my rear view mirror, and then, after signalling again, I courteously pulled back into the right lane. After a minute or two the headlights grew dimmer and more distant. Truck #38 wouldn't be far away.
But truck #37 must have thought that we had missed out on what could have been a beautiful friendship. He inched back into my rear view mirror and my consciousness, and pretty soon it was all I could see or think about.
I wondered what I might have done to offend this guy. I didn't think I had violated any Mass Pike laws of etiquette (not that there are many) when I passed him. I tried to pretend not to care, but the glow of the truck's headlights against the back of my head had the effect of some Cro Magnon Man breathing against the back of my neck. In short, I freaked out.
I was doing between 70 and 75 at the time. I stepped on the gas and hit 85 in about 30 seconds. I tried to hold it between 85 and 90, passing trucks #38 through #47 in the next few minutes. When I reached my exit, I deliberately turned onto it at the last possible second, screeching my tires and otherwise calling upon every ounce of driving skill I possessed to avoid flipping over. I skidded and swerved and screamed and swore for what seemed like hours, but it was all over in a few seconds. After confirming that no one was behind me, I took a deep breath and passed through the toll booth at exactly 15 miles per hour, proceeding down I-84 at a comfortable speed.
I couldn't have been more alone.
posted by extraspecialbitter at 5:50 PM
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