After a somewhat messy evening weather-wise, I proceeded as usual on my daily commute to work. While the roads were a touch sloppy in spots, they weren't that bad. (After all, this is PA!) The travels were relatively uneventful, until I happened upon a small Jeep. I recognized it as the car belonging to my co-worker, Leila. (Yes, the same one who couldn't find the cart moved a miniscule 8 feet away last week!) As a bit of background, I need to mention that Leila grew up on the shores of Lake Erie, so she should be used to winter weather. However, she poked along in her 4-wheeler at a lethargic 15 MPH, most of the time in a 35 MPH zone. ...And here I am in my minivan, having full control and confidence while driving. The entire 10-mile trip to work was spent meandering along at that crawling pace. From time to time, I varied my following distance-- although I never tailgated-- to alert her to her need to speed it up a tad, seeing as how about a dozen vehicles were behind me in this hideously slow procession.
Finally, we reached the company parking lot, barely in time. As we got out of our respective vehicles, Leila shot, "What's your hurry? You rode my tail the whole way in here!"
"No," I rebutted, "I wasn't 'on your tail.'"
"Yes you were," Leila defied.
Annoyed, yet calmly, I offered, "Where did you grow up? And why the heck were you only going 15 in a 35?"
The conversation came to an abrupt, yet merciful, end.
You have a vehicle designed for rough driving conditions and you grew up in blizzard country. You drive at the dangerously low speed of 15 because:
A) Precipitation terrifies you.
B) You enjoy ticking off the entire Western world.
C) You have absolutely no clue and are seriously overdue for your next trip to the shrink.
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