Hot Krispy Kremes Calling His Name!Posted: December 27, 2013
I was driving home the day after Christmas, up Highway 45 outside Tupelo, where the speed limit is either 65 or 70, I don’t know, but I was zipping along with my cruise at about 72 in the left lane, passing slower traffic in the right.
I noticed in my rearview that a car was coming up behind me very fast, a dark gray redneck car, and I thought he was going to hit me, so I quickly mashed the accelerator and put on my flashers to alert him—hey, I’m here!—and I am aware and will move over as soon as I can but look around and see that I cannot move over right now. But apparently I was supposed to change lanes and knock the other car off the road in order to get the hell out of his way because he came closer and rode six inches off my bumper. He pushed me up to 80. I reached for my phone to call 9-1-1 to report him—because I’m a tattletale at heart—but could not punch buttons and was afraid to take my hand off the wheel and my eye off the road. I could not change lanes going that speed between two slow cars—no way!—so I had to keep going for another few seconds until it was clear and safe to move over.
As he zoomed past me, I looked over and pointed toward him out my side window and called him a name that starts with an A, but he wasn’t looking.
Maybe it’s a good thing that he wasn’t looking because he was a Mississippi Highway patrolman.
I really don’t care who he was. He had no right to be driving that fast without lights and siren and no business pushing women up to 80 and making their hearts beat fast.