"Don't get in my lane or I will spit on your car."
Pretty nasty, huh?
Yeah, and it came from MY mouth.
Yes, I am shame-faced and no, I did not actually spit (but I had it ready). See yesterday, I was driving from the downtown office which is smack-dab in the middle of downtown, to an interview out in a far, far suburb (aren't they all?) and I had to take Clark Street.
Unfortunately, Clark Street runs alongside the Daley Center, where the Farmer's Marekt was being held, and City Hall, which is flanked by trucks and television station vans that take up driving lanes. And then there are the world's most idiodic cab drivers who try to make left hand turns from the center lane. And then me.
So immediately following a work-related crisis, which was making me already late for said interview, I was running on a growling stomach at 2 in the afternoon, knowing I would not eat until I got home at 730. I was trying to navigate the mine field of Clark Street while keeping Harriett the Hyndai safe (not an easy task, as evidenced by her collection of dings, scratches and outright smashes) and this cab literally pulled out from the curb, swearved into my my middle lane and then tried to make a left hand turn from said lane onto Waashington Street.
As my dad would say, my sh** was hot.
By the time I got home that night, I was tired, hungery, wet from the rain, and totally, totally wiped out.
So today I am taking a time-out to go see Larry do his first tri of the season, which is actually tomorrow in Wisconsin.