Yesterday, I met a friend for a little get together at the most northern tip of Orange County.
Under normal circumstances, going “up north” would not be a big deal …
It’s only about a 40 minute drive from my house during non-rush-hour drive time.
Photo: Bikes on a pier
However, things went awry on my way home.
Moments after I left my friend, as I walked down the street,
An elderly man started yelling and waving his fist at me.
I was standing on a sidewalk, waiting to cross the street.
I realize, the man either thought I was someone else,
Or more likely –
He wasn’t “all there” mentally.
It kind of threw me out of whack.
It’s not every day when a total stranger walks up and starts yelling, swearing, and shaking his fist at me.
I was a bit discombobulated by it.
Being yelled at never feels good, even (especially?) when you haven’t done anything wrong.
(Also? I love the word discombobulated! Do YOU like the word discombobulated? Try saying it a few times …!)
I tried to shake off the odd being yelled at by a random stranger experience, but it kind of deflated my Happy Bubble from visiting with my friend.
I’d just spent a few hours laughing, and giggling, and being silly.
Being yelled at, for doing nothing, came out of left field.
I began my drive home.
Within minutes I was locked in a traffic jam like I’ve never seen, and I’m from Southern California.
Traffic wasn’t moving AT ALL.
It wasn’t rush hour, and it wasn’t “normal” traffic.
I knew there must be a bad accident somewhere waaaaay ahead of me.
And ok, I admit it –
I was irritated by the traffic.
I had timed my departure to avoid spending much time on the freeways, and it was clearly going to be an exceptionally bad drive home.
True, I was probably more irritated than I would have been if a stranger hadn’t just yelled and sworn at me while I innocently stood on a sidewalk.
Finally, the car in front of me inched forward.
I started to do the same, when a plain white (unmarked!) sedan cut me off.
I had to slam my brakes on to avoid hitting it, and I was driving really slooooooow.
Irritated by the driver who cut me off so closely,
LOUD AND LONG.
After all, I’m not a fan of careless drivers.
What’s the point of a “little” honk?
Little honks don’t get the point across.
I might have said, “Fucking idiot” too.
(My windows were rolled up so unless Fucking Idiot was looking right at me, he probably didn’t know what I called him.)
Obviously, I’ve been spending too much time in L.A. lately, because I’m starting to drive like an Angelino.
And then ….
As I glared at him,
Fucking Idiot turned his police lights on.
Mind you, the police lights weren’t on top of the car like a normal police car.
No, this was an unmarked, undercover, sedan and the lights were inside the car –
(They only showed up when they were turned on.)
Mr. Policeman gestured to me as if to say, “Sorry.”
Or maybe, “Fuck you, lady. I’m a cop.”
Then he sped down the carpool lane and out of sight.
I later learned a big rig truck had been in an accident with three other cars.
The freeway I was on was shut down in both directions for a long, long, time.
(I eventually was able to inch over, exit the “closed” freeway and take surface streets back to South County.)
I haven’t heard if anyone was hurt in the accident, but I really, really, hope not.
(I may not have ever mentioned this before, ahem, but I was in a serious car accident myself a few years back.)
By the way,
It took me THREE HOURS to get home from my “forty minute trip.”
I’m still wondering if honking and swearing at a policeman is against the law?
Could I have gotten a ticket (or worse)?