Monday Memories: Somethin' Wrong With Your Hand?

Well check me out!  It's Monday and I actually have a Monday Memory posted.  You can thank the bizarre forces that decided to swirl together and form the longest night EVER!  Baby waking over and over and over and over again (if you don't like jamming your head into the corner of your crib, then here's a tip:  Don't Do It!). Daughter visiting regularly throughout the night for reasons unknown.... and poor, poor Ken up all night sick.  I gotta do something to keep myself occupied when sleep just isn't in the cards, so might as well write, right?

I really should call upon my sister to write this Monday Memory as I was so terrified during most of the event and I'm sure I'm not recalling everything correctly.  She was the driver and I was the passenger in this little adventure of ours.

We were in high school at the time, and we had driven up to the school to attend an evening function (possibly we were singing in a choir, or playing in a band, or watching someone graduate... just can't seem to recall).  We were circling around trying to find a parking spot in front of the school.

It will help to know that when I say circling, I mean that we were cruising along the one-way road in front of our school.  There were cars parked along the right side of the road, and then one lane open to drive through and look for parking spots.

As we drove through, with many cars behind us, we suddenly came face to face with a monster truck (well, maybe not a monster truck, but a big truck) driven by the surliest, meanest, retired-wrestler looking guy I've ever seen.  Sitting right beside him staring us down was his girlfriend.  Or at least I thought it was his girlfriend until I took a second look and realized it was his crazy looking junk yard dog!  Oops.  :-)

He was going the wrong way on this one-way road.

And he was just sitting there glaring at us.

He wouldn't move!  We had at least three cars waiting behind us, and we were going the right way.  He had NO cars behind him, and he was going the wrong way.  Yet, he continued to stare and glare... not backing down.

Here is where I'm fuzzy on the details.  I can't remember how we actually ended up getting past this guy.  Maybe we backed up, maybe we drove on the lawn to get past him, maybe somehow we squashed by each other.  No matter, we got past and decided to swing around again to try to find that elusive parking spot.

My sister and I were kind of in disbelief and kind of peeved.

Now, if you are my mother, or father, or mother-in-law, or father-in-law, or anyone else reading this who believes I am a sweet, nice, lovely person, you may want to brace yourself.  I am ashamed to describe what happened next, but I can assure you, it was the first and last time I ever did this.  I hope this won't be a permanent blemish on my report card of life!

As we circled the block to come back and try again, we saw the Man In The Truck again.  He was driving past us on a regular side street as we turned toward the school.  On top of being in disbelief and being peeved, we were also giddy teenage sisters.  We loved driving around together and hanging out, and 80% of the time we were just being doorknobs.  I think that doorknob factor  basically explains what I did next.

As we drove past him, I flipped him the bird.

This was completely out of character for me... in fact, this should tell you something.  I couldn't bring myself to do it for real, so I made this awful hand gesture waayyy below the dashboard so that only my sister and I could see it and have a big laugh about it.

Or so I thought...

We drove along the school and finally found a parking spot.  Yay!  As we went to exit the car, however, we found ourselves trapped.  We looked out of my sister's window.  Waaayy up there, looking down on us was... the Man In The Truck.

He just kept staring at us.  There was nowhere to run.

My mind was racing.  I was silently and frantically calculating the odds of survival if I just bolted out of my side of the car, leaving my sister to fend for herself. 

Or maybe we could drive up onto the lawn and away from this lunatic.

Or maybe we could...

And that's when I realized that my sister had rolled down the window.

What!?!!???  (She always had been much braver than me.  I'll give her credit for that)

I think my favourite part of this whole story was the way that she ever so subtly leaned back so that I could talk to this guy.  Of course, I had no idea what to say, so I just looked up at him.  It was quiet for a long time, and then he gruffly said:

"Somethin' wrong with your hand?"

I was dying inside.  I would have given anything to be anywhere else at that moment.  Maybe someone else would have argued with him, or pointed out that he was being a gigantic jerk, but all I could muster was:  "I'm sorry."

He continued glaring at us for what felt like an eternity, as did his drooling dog, and then he simply drove away.

The phrase, "somethin' wrong with your hand?" is now legendary to my sister and me.  We have used that phrase a million times to get a laugh from one another, and when one of us says it, you get the same feeling you do when you find a $20 bill in an old jacket pocket.  That's nostalgia at its best!

I will say, however, that I've learned my lesson.  No matter how upset or angry I am at someone when I'm driving, you'll never catch me so much as batting an eyelid in their direction.  I like my kneecaps too much.  :-)