Saturday, March 11, 2006

to hiace drivers

This morning I was forced to acknowledge that a cliche may be true.

Hiace drivers may be nasty folks.

I implore nice hiace drivers of Ireland to unite and to make your kin more friendly.

At Texaco this morning, I parked in a spot and bought the papers.

As I sat into old Betsy (my trustworthy 97 D fiesta), Mr Grease Pants pulls in behind me, making my exit an unnecessarily fancy driving manoeuvre.

He realises I am planning to leave, and smiles merrily, gesticulating that I should do my twenty four point turn.

It's the morning, I'm a bit tired and hungover, so I smile back and gesticulate that it would be great if he could reverse.

He hops out of the Hiace and stands with an evil type of a grin, daring me to say something.

I open the door and smile, nicely. No point in making Mr Grease Pants more angry than he seems to be by nature.

'Hi' I say, 'could you do me a favour? It would be great if you could reverse out to let me out'

He looks at me and says 'No... You just turn it around'. Then stands there, his legs spread, knees bent and gesticulates some sort of a turn around with his fingers.

I look at him again, and smile gently, 'it would be easier for both of us, if you would just reverse though? Please?'

He shakes his head, most pleased with himself, I imagine he enjoys a morning barney and thinks I am going to provide him with today's amusement.

'Where would I park then? It wouldn't be easy for me' he says.

'But you could just park where I am now, and then you'd have a space and everything' I say, appealing to logic.

'No' he says.

I'm bored, but he's enjoying this so much, and I really just want to see how irrational he's going to be, so I say,

'Please, for me'

He shakes his hands, smiles, bends his knees (just to make his manhood a little more prominent I imagine) and slowly gesticulates that I should do the twenty point turn.

'I'm just going to ask you once more, if you'll reverse, it would be great if you would'

He shakes his head again, and does his little finger ballet.

In a nice, sweet, non-angry pretty girl voice (thank goodness for those acting classes, anger management is a great thing) I say, 'Thank you, you really are a charming man'.

He smiles... I think the irony took sixteen of the twenty point of the turn to sink in.

It occurs to him as I hit my seventeenth move that I may be in danger of hitting precious MickeyHead (his Hiace) and he comes back to skulk staring at me.

I complete the arduous man made manoeuvre and thanking God that this is probably the first
misogynist I have had to encounter in twenty eight years on earth, I wave kindly at Mr Grease Man.

I hate to admit it, but ten seconds later I was shaking - with sadness, anger and fear.

His gurning face, his leecherous, dangerous pose.

The man is a bully. I doubt he is married, or has daughters, sisters or a mother, but if he does, I hope treats them better than he did a hungover polite woman in a little car this morning.

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