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Crazy bastard driver
Whew. I'm still shaky.
Okay, here's the story. On Tuesdays and Thursdays I borrow my parents' car and drive Sebastian up to spend the day with them. You see, my parents live only a couple of miles from where I work.
That way, Teri gets a couple of days off, and my folks and Sebastian get to have some fun together. It's a long drive (90 minutes to two hours each way), but it's worth it.
Incidentally, the reason I don't drive one of our cars is that the Neon isn't trustworthy enough for a long drive with the baby, and the van gets lousy mpgs and is also probably not dependable. Plus, parking in Boston is ridiculously expensive.
Eventually we'll probably try to get Sebastian used to riding on the train with me, but we're not at that point yet.
Anyway, I was driving with Sebastian this morning. We were close to our destination, only fifteen minutes away. The trip had been a good one; I'd guessed right on what route to take, so we'd made excellent time with relatively light traffic. And Sebastian had stayed cheerful throughout.
So we're stopped at the light where Cypress St. crosses route 9 in Brookline. There are, of course, many cars stopped ahead of us; we were in line. Suddenly I felt a heavy *BUMP* and our car lurched forward. I looked back, and a black minivan had made solid contact with our rear bumper. I looked at the driver. He was older, probably in his sixties, balding, with grayish hair and a small mustache. He looked at me and made a face like "What's your problem, asshole?".
I pulled forward a little, and a second later he rammed me again, harder. Not enough to cause damage, but it was definitely a hard hit. I opened the door and looked back at him. "What's your problem?" he shouted.
"You're HITTING me, you crazy bastard!" I shouted at the top of my lungs (I can be surprisingly loud). He made a "eh" face and ignored me. Then he hit me again.
Sebastian was getting a bit upset. He started making faces, and talking about a "stinky truck" that needed "diapy on". I tried to calm down and say some relaxing things to him.
At that point the light turned green, so I stepped on the gas and got moving. The minivan ran the red light behind me and came after me. He got pretty damn close to me a few times, but eventually I reached a light where I got in lane to take a left turn, and he went straight. As he went by he screamed something at me, but I couldn't make it out. I didn't even give him the finger.
I swear, until this guy started ramming my rear bumper I had no idea who he was. I hadn't cut him off, hadn't made eye contact, wasn't even aware he was there except as a car behind me. And I was driving totally normally.
Anyway, I got his license plate: 214 GMV, a standard green MA plate. He was in his late 50's to 60's, balding, gray hair with a bit of black, and a relatively small mustache - not Hitler style, but kind of like the Dunkin' Donuts guy. Normal weight range, slightly longish face. No beard that I could see. He was driving a black Dodge minivan, a relatively new model. Last seen heading down Cypress St. towards downtown Brookline and Boston.
I called the Brookline police when I got to my parents' place, and they were spectacularly unhelpful, as the police so often are in these situations. There was nothing they could do, since he hadn't caused damage. I suggested that the guy was a menace to other drivers, but "there's nothing we can do" is a favorite catchphrase with the police. Finally they said they'd keep an eye out for him (yeah, right) and that was it.
Sebastian's fine. I'm still a little shaky and pissed off. What a psycho!
Okay, here's the story. On Tuesdays and Thursdays I borrow my parents' car and drive Sebastian up to spend the day with them. You see, my parents live only a couple of miles from where I work.
That way, Teri gets a couple of days off, and my folks and Sebastian get to have some fun together. It's a long drive (90 minutes to two hours each way), but it's worth it.
Incidentally, the reason I don't drive one of our cars is that the Neon isn't trustworthy enough for a long drive with the baby, and the van gets lousy mpgs and is also probably not dependable. Plus, parking in Boston is ridiculously expensive.
Eventually we'll probably try to get Sebastian used to riding on the train with me, but we're not at that point yet.
Anyway, I was driving with Sebastian this morning. We were close to our destination, only fifteen minutes away. The trip had been a good one; I'd guessed right on what route to take, so we'd made excellent time with relatively light traffic. And Sebastian had stayed cheerful throughout.
So we're stopped at the light where Cypress St. crosses route 9 in Brookline. There are, of course, many cars stopped ahead of us; we were in line. Suddenly I felt a heavy *BUMP* and our car lurched forward. I looked back, and a black minivan had made solid contact with our rear bumper. I looked at the driver. He was older, probably in his sixties, balding, with grayish hair and a small mustache. He looked at me and made a face like "What's your problem, asshole?".
I pulled forward a little, and a second later he rammed me again, harder. Not enough to cause damage, but it was definitely a hard hit. I opened the door and looked back at him. "What's your problem?" he shouted.
"You're HITTING me, you crazy bastard!" I shouted at the top of my lungs (I can be surprisingly loud). He made a "eh" face and ignored me. Then he hit me again.
Sebastian was getting a bit upset. He started making faces, and talking about a "stinky truck" that needed "diapy on". I tried to calm down and say some relaxing things to him.
At that point the light turned green, so I stepped on the gas and got moving. The minivan ran the red light behind me and came after me. He got pretty damn close to me a few times, but eventually I reached a light where I got in lane to take a left turn, and he went straight. As he went by he screamed something at me, but I couldn't make it out. I didn't even give him the finger.
I swear, until this guy started ramming my rear bumper I had no idea who he was. I hadn't cut him off, hadn't made eye contact, wasn't even aware he was there except as a car behind me. And I was driving totally normally.
Anyway, I got his license plate: 214 GMV, a standard green MA plate. He was in his late 50's to 60's, balding, gray hair with a bit of black, and a relatively small mustache - not Hitler style, but kind of like the Dunkin' Donuts guy. Normal weight range, slightly longish face. No beard that I could see. He was driving a black Dodge minivan, a relatively new model. Last seen heading down Cypress St. towards downtown Brookline and Boston.
I called the Brookline police when I got to my parents' place, and they were spectacularly unhelpful, as the police so often are in these situations. There was nothing they could do, since he hadn't caused damage. I suggested that the guy was a menace to other drivers, but "there's nothing we can do" is a favorite catchphrase with the police. Finally they said they'd keep an eye out for him (yeah, right) and that was it.
Sebastian's fine. I'm still a little shaky and pissed off. What a psycho!
no subject
(Anonymous) 2003-10-08 05:41 pm (UTC)(link)This is why people get shot on freeways in California.
Well, probably more than that, but I'm reminded of that Heinlein
(well, maybe from a Campbell suggestion) saying that universal gun
ownership would make people polite. While I'm not really inclined to
give everybody a gun, there is something to the notion that if people can
act without any chance of consequences many of them will act abominably.
no subject
What works is that a polite society is a polite society. If you grow up in a culture that takes civility seriously then you will tend to be polite too.
no subject
(Anonymous) 2003-10-14 09:39 am (UTC)(link)A group of drinking teens is about 50 yards away. A very mouthy girl sees me grab and roll Boedi and start to shake her. She leaps up and runs over to within ten feet of me screaming and shouting obscenities ex cetera. Her boy friend follows. He says little (but offers to fight, gee thanks, dopey). I leave. I AM PISSED BIG TIME!
I immediately call the police upon getting home and report... what?
That's right...I report his "threat" and describe the group of otherwise laid back late teens as a "gang." (only the one stupid bitch girl "attacked")
I then said I "...was terrified absolutely and in fear of my life. (hey had that whole group got up i'd have been a goner). Could you please send a unit over right away to make sure that gang didn't kill someone. If it wasn't for my two big dogs, I'd have been knifed or worse for sure..."
Yes 'mam...I'm in our neighborhood council and As an additional service to my neighborhood, I'd be contacting (insert police commissioner's name here) at the (insert next public meeting or event here) as he was a friend of the family's (true or untrue). He'd want to know that these gang members have come into our neighborhood!"
--and the commish was big on gang violence in our metro. Then I thanked phone operator for such professionalism and asked for ID# so I could mention her to my friend (ie I'm checking up on this...).
If I thought I was being blown off then I would have to get across the point without making it a threat (more like a promise ;-) ...), that this scared old guy-- threatened by an evil group of nasty gang bangers while walking his dogs near his home-- was inclined to repeat present performance (a teary eyed call) to the two major newspapers and a rehearsed performance on certain radio shows. Make it more expensive for the dispatcher to fail than to perform and send a cop over.
BTW stupid teen bitch got mouthy with the cop and got her ass tossed in lock-up. It was Saturday so she didn't get released until Monday. HA! ...and for things completely unrelated to what I complained about. heh heh heh. SWEET!
So...in your circumstances
"Hello operator! Thank GOD.. Some maniac just rammed into my van and tried to push my infant son and I into oncoming traffic. Christ! I was terrified...(son crying in background) ..."
Sir are you ok...
"I don't know--I'm still shaken up. Oh god, he almost killed us! He I got his plate as he drove away--it's (fill in the blank). He's heading (name road and direction). He's driving (describe car). He's got to be high! Stop him before he kills somebody!"
Still no action, then say sounding breathless and scared "I'm at my parents house...she wants to call the radio stations so they'll warn everybody! Oh lord..."
Hell you're a role player so start playin'. Nobody wants to help a pissed off jerk even when he's right but a young dad and infant son nearly "killed" by an evil old psycho...that's the ticket that plays in Peoria!
Save the physical description until they ask. remember your "shaken and scared" not yet furious.
When they do pull him over he's got to defend serious accusations. As GWBush has so ably demonstrated in his recent war in Iraq. It isn't what's true, but what's asserted...
The whole point was to get this fucker a ticket. Or to pay back. Or better yet, to truly serve your fellow drivers by policing this ornery prick off the streets.
So this LIFE 101 lesson is this ancient Chinese secret, "the squeaky wheel gets the oil..."
(beware the corollary, "if wheel squeaks too much after it's been oiled, it gets the hammer...")
Wayde "ancient chinese secret dude" esq.
"Reasonable Doubt at a Reasonable Price!" ;-)
no subject
no subject
(Anonymous) 2003-10-14 09:40 am (UTC)(link)Wayde, esq.
no subject
(Anonymous) 2008-06-16 07:28 pm (UTC)(link)THEY'LL BE THERE IN NO TIME.