Yesterday, I was sitting at a stoplight in the van. It was a perfect day, warm but not too much so. I had the window open to catch the gentle breeze.
A car pulled up. The music was blaring, making it difficult to hear my own stereo. I have always waited for this situation, but heretofore been too chicken to react.
I turned my music up, drowning out his. He turned his louder. I responded. He cranked his still louder: I could feel the bass of his music throbbing through my door. I cranked mine until it was painful. Had a cop been around, both of us would have been cited for being a public nuisance, although I would have been willing to go to court on this one.
He had just turned his even louder when the light changed and he burned rubber getting away. I smiled gently, turned my stereo down (and waited for my ears to stop ringing), and eased away from the intersection.
His music? Some sort of rap, in Spanish. It was nothing I recognized. Mine was ...
Tony Bennett and Michael Bublé singing "Don't Get Around Much Anymore."
As I said, I've always wanted to do that.
No comments:
Post a Comment