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I was reminded today of a road-trip adventure I had when we were scouting locations for the TRR. I actually posted a short version of the story on Facebook back then, but since it was circa 2018, I feel justified in a longer explanation here/now.
This particular house-hunting trip got off to a pretty weird start. I had barely made it out of town when I decided to pull into a gas station to refuel—both the van and myself. I was halfway out of the driver’s seat when a man in a mini-sized convertible screeched up behind me, slammed his door, and started screaming at the top of his lungs.
“You stupid *****! I’ve been driving two inches behind your bumper for miles! WHY DIDN’T YOU LET ME BY WHEN I FLASHED MY LIGHTS AND HONKED? I can’t believe you ARE THAT *** stupid!”
Now, I’m not sure what was more alarming: being ambushed in broad daylight by a human air horn, or the fact that he thought “two inches behind your bumper” was a valid traffic position. Honestly, I didn’t even know he was there.
In fairness, if his teeny-tiny convertible really was tucked up behind my full-size van, his car was completely hidden—and his horn didn’t stand a chance against Vivaldi or Meatloaf. (I rotate between “The Four Seasons” and “Bat Out of Hell,” sometimes adding in a little Garth Brooks, depending on mood.)
Still, the suddenness of it all left me frozen in place. I’m not great at comebacks under pressure. I’m more of a “think of something brilliant six hours later while brushing my teeth” kind of gal. But this time, my brain—bless it—delivered something unfiltered straight from the survival department of comedy.
After staring at him for a few seconds, I just blurted out, “Sir, I’m not sure if it’s your tantrum or what, but your toupee is standing straight up about four inches off your head—”
I didn’t get to finish. Because at that point, I completely lost it. I mean, full-on, ugly, uncontrollable laughter. The kind where you snort and choke and tears just start streaming down your face. (In my defense, I’m one of those people whose first reaction to fear is completely inappropriate laughter. My body doesn’t do “fight or flight”—it does “giggle and gasp.”)
Mini Man froze, blinked twice, then spun on his heel, dove back into his little car, and peeled out of the gas station lot—one hand gripping the wheel, the other plastering his faux hair to his forehead.
I know it’s petty, but I won’t lie: the sound of five or six strangers at nearby gas pumps breaking into spontaneous applause was deeply satisfying.
So, yes. The house-hunting trip was officially underway. The adrenaline was pumping, the laughter was flowing, and I had been reminded that sometimes the best travel souvenir is a story you couldn’t have made up if you tried.
Moral of the day?
If you’re going to lose your temper in public, make sure you don’t literally blow your top!