We’re getting close to the end of summer. I know this because my local Giant Eagle has had the Halloween candy display out for two weeks now. We should see the Christmas items out by Labor Day. What’s the rush?
The other day as I was driving along route 60 near the old airport. Out of nowhere a Dodge Challenger with racing stripes on the hood came speeding past me. As he went by I noticed his license plate. It said “EAT DST”, which I suppose means either “Eat Dust,” or “Eat my Dust.” The reason for this is because “Officer may I please have another speeding ticket,” doesn’t fit on a license plate.
Hey, if you want to get vanity plates for your car that’s fine. But, you have to think these things through. I remember driving along with my wife a few years ago when we were passed by a black Camaro. On the plates it said, “1 Stud.” Why wife asked,
“Why would somebody get that on their license plate?”
“I don’t know. Maybe “BG JRK” was already taken.”
Along the stretch of road I was traveling there is a series of traffic lights. As I rolled up next to the Challenger at the red light I was reminded of something my father said to me when I was young and drove like an idiot.
“Hey look, the guy you just blew past is right next to you at the light.”
As the light turned green, the Challenger gunned the engine and sped off.
“You win this time “EAT DST,” but we’ll meet again someday.”
We actually met about thirty seconds later at the next red light. Then when that light turned green he beat me again to the next light. I don’t know how satisfying it is to win races when you are the only one involved but “EAT DST” seemed to enjoy it.
After the third and final light, I lost sight of the Challenger in the distance. That was until about two minutes later when I saw him on the side of the road as the policeman approached. At that point I felt kind of good about winning a race I wasn’t in.
You’re probably starting to wonder why this is titled “The Girls in the Car.” I’m getting to that. Last weekend my wife and I went to eat at our local Primanti’s. As we approached the car after leaving the restaurant we could see another car parked about three inches from mine. I’ve had idiots pull in too close before but never like this.
Usually when somebody does this to me, I like to leave a little present on the driver’s side door handle, depending on what’s available. This time I couldn’t do that because the driver was still in the car. Not just her but another girl. Both were furiously putting on makeup and looking in the mirror.
“I can’t get in.”
My wife said because there wasn’t room to open the door on the passenger side of my car.
Now I knew the girls could hear this but had no reaction. That’s when I realized what was happening. The moron driving had pulled in too close to my car. She was too afraid to try to move the car for fear she would hit mine. Not only that but she couldn’t get out and for some reason was either unable or unwilling to climb over the center console and exit on the passenger side. So now the girls were pretending to put on makeup, hoping we would just leave.
I decided to have some fun.
“What’s our rush? Let’s go back in and have a drink and watch the rest of the game.”
I should have taken a picture of the look on the girl’s faces as we walked back toward the restaurant.
The game lasted about another half hour. I kept looking toward the door but the girls never came in. As we walked out they once again started the makeup routine. As I backed the car out so my wife could get in, I banged my hand hard onto the roof.
“Get in let’s go!”
I shouted as my wife jumped in.
Driving away I could see in the rear view mirror the girls checking for the non-existent dent. I laughed and enjoyed a nice ride home. We were in no hurry.
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