Unbagging the Cats 1

Unbagging the Cats 1

Monday, October 17, 2011

The Curious Incident of the Butts in the Road

I know you must think I'm some little old lady with a driving phobia, what with all the roadway oddities I grouse about. Perhaps you picture me as Tweety's Grandma.

Or imagine me hunkered down behind the wheel of a 1958 Studebaker, peering between the dashboard and the top of the steering wheel.

Maybe I'm really concentrating on maneuvering my vehicle through perilous territory, my sweet little Tweety on my lap.

Or maybe what I THINK is sweet little Tweety is nothing more than a spot of bird doo doo on the windshield.

I assure you, I am not in such a road-hazardous condition. I merely attempt to pilot my large SUV from home to work and back again each day, along the two-lane blacktop of rural Missouri. But there are days, my friends, when Common Sense is a neglected toddler who slips out the back door to run barefooted down the street to the carnival at the city park, where she tugs on shirttails and begs for cotton candy.

Today I turned onto a new stretch of concrete road behind the high school of a rival school district. There, on the pavement, sat four middle-school-aged boys, legs crossed, facing the woods that separated them from a trailer park, oblivious to traffic whizzing by at the legal speed of 30 mph.

W. T. F. ?

They were not on the shoulder. They were not in the grass of the very wide right-of-way. Their derrieres were smack dab on where the white line would be if the state of Missouri threw caution to the wind and actually painted lines on the sides of our roads down here in the hinterlands.

Of course I mouthed them and gave them my best disapproving teacher look. One glanced over his shoulder insolently. And smirked.

At that moment, Hick, master of the inopportune phone call, rang me up to tell me that he ate chicken livers for lunch. Oh. And that he would be staying late at work for a plant inspection with the fire marshal. Let's hope he didn't pull a Coyote Ugly faux pas and squirt him in the face like Violet, who was really tricked into it by Rachel the New York biatch, who taught her the chant, "Heck no! H2O!" just before the fire marshal ordered a glass of water.

I ranted to Hick about the road butt, and he said to call the police. I said that was kind of stupid, it's not like there was an emergency, and anyway, the county would have to send a car, and who knows how far away they were at the moment, and I didn't want be on record for calling in a false report in case somebody was getting his head bashed in elsewhere, and really needed that patrolman. Hick said to call 311, the non-emergency reporting number, and that it was city jurisdiction, not county.

Still. I was driving. I did not want to look down dumbly to try and find the numbers on my smart phone. If I see the road-butt boys again, I will pull over and call.

They were probably smoking a doobie.


BECKY said...

Well, I guess you can call me Granny, too! I actually called the Highway Patrol a couple of days ago about a semi that was weaving all over I-70 West Bound. I don't know if the guy was texting, talking on the phone...or falling asleep. I couldn't get up next to him. Hopefully, whatever the problem was....stopped before he crashed into an innocent driver.

Bailey Hammond said...

Baha! I like the way this ended. Anyway, I just popped on over to let you know that I've chosen you for the 7x7 Link Award! Yay! I've only known you for one weekend and I'm already giving you awards!
The rest of the info is back on my blog, but I can't wait to see which links you pick!

Linda O'Connell said...

They had their backs to you? Could have been worse than a doobie. Kids have no sense.

labbie1 said...

Kinda gives you another perspective on the sign "Leave your butts outside"...

labbie1 said...

PS, since you are trying to convince us that you are not tweety's granny, take a gander at this and tell me what you think... http://pat-aviewfromtheedge.blogspot.com/2011/10/id-pedal-faster-wouldnt-you.html


Tammy said...

Such trusting children. In the city, their butts would just get run over. Maybe that would be a good place to empty the ice from your soda.

Val Thevictorian said...

These young whippersnappers have a lot of growing up to do. I dub you The Road Warrior. Keep fighting the good fight.

Thanks so much. I either have an industrial-magnet personality in print, or I have gained a stalker.

Cars were weaving wide around their scrawny butts while they remained impervious.

Maybe "Leave your butts off the side of the road" should be a new road sign.

Gosh. Maybe I AM Tweety's granny.

That would be a waste of good ice.

labbie1 said...

I'm supposing that they would prefer Tweety's granny to Mr Magoo--given that their butts were on the road! LOL