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closeMy mother, for all of her wonderful traits and qualities, had one fault that was so indelible, so obvious to others that she eventually grudgingly acknowledged … she could carry a grudge.
Actually, she was a world-class grudger. She could tote a grudge in a bucket, or a little velveteen sack where she could retrieve it during times when she wasn’t doing anything else. It was at those times that she’d pull the grudge from its pouch and furiously burnish it. Then, completely salved with self-satisfaction, she’d sigh and put it back for its next time of need.
All of this is preamble to my confession: I, too, can carry a grudge. It’s not like it’s bad enough to enter a 12-step program for grudge bearers (“Hello, my name is Bill, and I indulge in resentment and rancor, carrying real and perceived slights till the end of time.”)
No, my grudge is pretty simple and singular: I resent people who indulge in piggish behavior when it comes to driving. Case in point is Los Osos Valley Road, an arterial I travel to and from work each day from our home in lovely but sewerlorn Los Osos.
This is a stretch of road girdled by farms that are constantly planting and harvesting crops, where tractors chug along on the road’s shoulders when not in the fields, where trucks carrying boxes of produce offer proof of our county’s fertility. It’s also a road that has a couple of passing lanes, and it’s these features where little piggies behind the wheel are playing with people’s lives.
For example, let’s say you’re tootling along at the prescribed 55 mph speed limit and you come to one of the passing lanes — either one going east or west — and there’s a long line of cars ahead of you going the speed limit. We’re all in the right lane; the two-lane portion of the road is coming up; signs are warning to merge right because the passing lane is ending. And then you see someone in your rearview who’s bombing along at 80 mph, wanting to squeeze in ahead of everyone else.
On numerous occasions a game of chicken occurs where the car entering the two-lane section from the passing lane continues into oncoming traffic, betting on squeezing in before a head-on occurs, or the slower driver entering the two-lane section is forced to move onto the bike lane and shoulder of the road to make room for the road hog.
Now, my earlier point about how beautiful a stretch of road this is underscores this point: Why don’t we all just go the speed limit, enjoy the scenery and get to where we’re going safe and sound? What’s the point of speeding ahead of everyone else, only to reach a stoplight at Foothill Boulevard or South Bay Boulevard maybe one minute faster than everyone else?
That’s my grudge; what’s yours?
Bill Morem can be reached at bmorem@thetrib unenews.com or 781-7852.
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