Our house…in the middle of our street.

We live on a busy-ish street. Not as busy as it used to be, I’ll grant you. Our street was closed for a major construction project for nine months last year, and somehow a ton of drivers learned a different route and never came back. Not a bad thing.

But still, we’re on a good through street. No fewer than three times over the years we’ve lived here, cars parked in front of our house were hit by passing drivers. One time it was our car that got hit. Being fast learners, we don’t park in front of our house any more.

Because of the regular traffic, it’s always an adventure moving our cars around in the driveway/garage. That’s a constant task around here, especially when everyone’s home and there are four vehicles to jockey around. Who’s leaving first tomorrow? Whose car needs to be in the garage for some reason or another? Who needs to dash out right after dinner? It’s like a finely choreographed ballet.

So this evening Middle Sister had to head out for a late choir rehearsal, and I had to move my van to let her out. While sitting in the street with my blinker on, waiting to pull back in after my daughter had pulled out, I witnessed a fascinating and long overdue incident.

You see, people driving past our house often become inordinately angry at us for pulling out of and back into our own driveway. There’s generally a few seconds’ wait as the family member we’re letting out actually exits the driveway, and apparently that few seconds is totally unacceptable to a lot of people. We get honked at (the lay your hand on the horn for 5 seconds kind of honk), flipped off, shouted at. It’s so ridiculous we actually find it pretty amusing.

In tonight’s drama, a car waited quietly behind me while I waited to get back into our driveway. So far so good. But then a huge pickup truck pulled up behind her.

The pickup driver was impatient, and immediately started to go around the car behind me.

The car behind me had no clue anyone was behind her, and decided to come around at the exact same time.

Crunch.

The two drivers, both women, moved forward a bit and pulled over. They got out and immediately started shouting at each other. I thought about putting in my two cents about the fault in the incident, but the pickup truck driver was SCARY. I have this thing about women and girls who look like fast-pitch softball players. They scare the crap out of me. They are not people I want to be in conversation with at the best of times. That pickup truck driver looked and talked like she played fast-pitch, and this was not the best of times. (I realize that’s a broad generalization, and I apologize to all quiet, gentle, fast-pitch playing women out there.) Besides, if the police were called in and a witness was needed, they knew where to find me.

Strangely, by the time I’d gotten in the house, shut the door, and looked out the front window to see the progress, both vehicles and drivers were gone.

It was like an episode of the Twilight Zone.  For your consideration, two unpleasant drivers and an innocent bystander…

I’m just glad I got out of there alive.

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