Most people don’t know that the largest traffic jam in the history of Los Angeles was caused because I dumped a plate of eggs on someone.
Something tells me thousands of people wouldn’t care why I did it or that I look back on this experience as being among the scariest and best times of my life.
Nah, they wouldn’t want to hear me tell them about how a flannel clad bald man stuck his leg out at the diner and tripped me. They probably wouldn’t want to hear about how he laughed and offered to send me on another trip.
If he hadn’t laughed so damn hard I might have thought it was a mistake but there was something about the gleeful look on his face that set me off.
When I glared at him he told me to “fuck off.”
I smiled and asked him if he was enjoying his meal.
“Yeah, it is pretty damn good. Now fuck off.”
I smiled again and stuck my hand down the front of my pants and made a point to wiggle my fingers around.
When I pulled my hand out I wiped it across his face and asked him if he liked another serving of “Sweaty balls.”
And then I hit him in the head with his plate and watched the eggs run down the front of his shirt.
“You ought to take a trip you fat fuck. Get the fuck out now and I won’t carve my name into the side of your head.”
If this were a movie he would have meekly nodded his head and run out the door, but it wasn’t and he didn’t.
This is precisely the time that I should have heard warning bells inside my head and gotten out of there. Except I didn’t hear any bells and my ego made me stroll away.
And by stroll I mean strut or maybe sashay, I am not really sure how to describe it as being anything other than the walk of arrogance.
Moments later I would put on my seat belt and pull out onto the street heading towards the freeway.
Somewhere during those moments he left the diner, got into his semi and came after me.
I heard him long before I saw him.
He didn’t bother with signals, stop signs or lane changes. He just drove though the cars towards me.