Possumblog

I am a moron.

Got home last night and immediately set in to try and get SOMEthing cooked for supper before time to go. Luckily, we had frozen quesadillas (rolled flour tortillas filled with cheese, salsa, and armadillo) and some other stuff, so I threw that in the microwave and started scurrying around like a madman to get it on the table. Which I actually managed to do, with approximately 12 minutes left to consume said food.

I was able to accomplish this quite handily, because after it was all said and done, I only actually got to eat one of them. On the other hand, everyone else got plenty, but they were all seeming to eat with the leisure of people who DID NOT KNOW WE HAD TO LEAVE AT 6:00 TO GET TO CHURCH!

Nothing is more top-blowing to me than to be trying to get everyone out of the house, and for them to sit there carefully picking at small bits of food. "We're LEAVING. We need to put the plates in the SINK and LEAVE. NOW. I'm opening the garage door NOW. We need to GO now. All the rest of you kids get your STUFF and let's GO now. PLEASE"

The only thing that made last night bearable was the fact that for once, I could leave in my own vehicle since we were taking both cars. 6:30 rolled around, Rebecca was the only one ready, so we hit the door and left.

Got in, buckled up, fired up the mighty thundering 115 horses of the anvil-like B230F engine, backed out, and headed toward Leeds. We always take the back way up South Chalkville Mountain Road/Roper Road/White's Chapel Parkway (all the same road, by the way, but changes names several times), but when we got close to the stop sign to make the turn, we were at the tail end of a long line of completely immobile cars. It was pretty obvious that at the end of the line must have been a wreck of some sort.

Hmm.

Grr.

HURRY!

Nope.

Nothing like being someone who is irrationally concerned with being on time, who managed to leave at the very last possible minute to be somewhere without being late, and then to be stopped in your effort to take the time-saving shortcut. AGONY! I tell you.

I sat there for a minute or two, waiting on something to move or to be magically teleported to my destination, neither of which happened. Alternate route time.

I calculated that I could go back down Queenstown Road, jump on I-459 at Derby Parkway, hit I-20, and be to Leeds almost on time. SO, hung a Uey there in the middle of the street, and took off in a fog of slightly oily smelling exhaust, bombing down the 25 mph limited two lane road at a velocity slightly greater than the statutory limit, but not nearly at the velocity that would cause the tires to complain.

GRRRRR!

Got stuck behind somebody in a Ford Expedition who obviously was not NEARLY in so big of a hurry to get to Leeds as I was. GRR. GRR. CURSES. DRAT. FIE! BEELZEBUB'S KNEES! (Or, words to that effect.)

All the time, Rebecca is sitting calmly in the passenger seat--probably because she is not aware of the raging internal monologue going on inside of her father's tiny cranium.

"Bec, this guy's turning the way I wanted to go--I think we're going to have to go the back BACK way, you know, back around through Irondale like the way Mommy used to go to work at the daycare."

This way goes past the turnoff through the industrial park, and heads over the bridge over I-459, where you take a left onto Alton Road and follow that all the way to Highway 78, where you take another left and then hook up at the top of the hill with I-20.

SO, the truck does turn, and the pedal gets mashed down with extreme prejudice. My passenger did not seem to notice the velocity building up, which either means I drive like a maniac all the time, or that I make haste with great aplomb. Or that she was too frightened to mention it.

She didn't seem concerned, though, and we talked about all the stuff she remembered from when she used to ride this way with Mom. Of course, Alton Road in this area is narrow, winding, pitch black, and to complicate things further, various trailer parks edge right up to the pavement--especially the one right past the bridge, where the Bent and Dent store is.

It is at this point I realized, once again, that I am a moron. We come across the bridge, engine thrumming and breathing hard, the various front porches of mobile homes seeming to close in on each side, when my headlights glint off of an object in the deep shadows to my left...

It is unmistakable.

"Hey, look! It's a '70 Torino GT!"

Yep--despite being so distracted by being late, by having to find another route, by all the things I had to do when I got to church, by having to find a banquet hall for my inlaw's anniversary, by all the crap that goes on at work, by traveling above the posted speed limits, by life, I still managed to notice something so silly.

It was pulled up behind a carport at one of the trailers on the left side of the road--it was white, like this one, but not quite in such spiffy shape. "A what?"

"Oh, uh, oh, just an old car parked back there. Daddy gets easily distracted."

She just giggled. On we went, and managed to hit the door at exactly 7:00. Reba and the rest got there about ten minutes later--they turned around and went the same way I did--she had called when she got stuck and I told her what I was doing.

Somehow, I don't think she noticed the Torino on her way. Which is probably a good thing.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at January 26, 2006 09:31 AM