Earlier this month, I received a postcard of coupons from McDonald's. Among the "Current Resident" mailer coupons was an especially sweet treat: a $1 Frappé. While I don't eat at Mickey D's on a regular basis, I occasionally drive through in the morning to treat myself to a hot breakfast, and a dose of caffeine sounded wonderful. So I stopped at McDonald's on my way to work last week with visions of a Friday morning
caffeine rush in my head, but was quickly given a dose of reality--the machine was broken.
Fast forward to this morning, and I was especially excited about my dollar Frappé. I even decided to try a different McDonald's in case the machine was broken again. After making my purchases (you have to have something to go with the morning beverage!) I happily made room for the prized caramel frappé in my cup holder and prepared to zoom off to work since I was now running a little late...
The particular McDonald's I patronized this morning is on the corner of a busy intersection, and to turn right out of the parking lot, you have to cross through a long right-hand turn lane to get into the next lane over, which goes straight. I knew I should have driven through the shopping center to an exit farther up the road, but I thought I might get lucky and someone would be nice. Enter Mr. Big Truck (many thanks to
Melanie for the naming inspiration!) As I try to find a hole through one lane of turning vehicles that happens to line up with a space in the lane I need to be in, Mr. Big Truck is honking at me. The light is green, and the cars aren't stopping. He honks again. I am getting frustrated with people not using turn signals and the lack of space to turn out, and he's still honking. I had to seriously fight the urge to toss him a good luck salute--my hand was raised and I had to take my attention away from the traffic flow to tell myself NO. I am not the sort of person to commit road rage; normally I call the person an idiot, maybe slap the steering wheel, and then move on. Mercifully, I finally spy a gap big enough for my little Mazda and move out in time to be stopped by the red light. Oh, well. That just means I get time to try my prized frappé while I wait for the light to turn!
I glance in the rearview mirror to see Mr. Big Truck behind me, shaking his head and mumbling to himself, and I again fight the urge to show him that he's number 1, but then I notice Junior Big Truck, who looks to be around 4 years old, in the passenger seat. I'm so relieved that I was able to restrain myself for the sake of Junior, but I have to wonder what kind of driver he will be in a decade or so with his father's stellar example to follow?
Now that I'm jittery on my caffeine high and bouncing off of the walls of my office, I have to ask myself, "Was my morning adventure worth it?" Probably not, but I've learned from today's mistakes, and in the future, I'll leave the house earlier and take the grandma way out the back entrance to avoid drivers like Mr. Big Truck on my rear. Instead, he'll be in front of me somewhere, blocking traffic and causing other drivers to rage!
