I Love/Hate People

Okay, strap yourselves in. I was driving home for Easter weekend on a friday night. It's 10 p.m., I'm halfway between Lonoke and Beebe, going about 60 or so, no cars in sight. All of a sudden, this guy (let's call him Jimbo) comes up behind me - or, more specifically, I would say he 'zoomed' up behind me. "Zoomed." So anyway, he rides my bumper for about a quarter mile. Aggressive, annoying, whatever. Then Jimbo does the obligatory angry swerve around my apparently dangerously-slow-moving vehicle, and proceeds to swerve back in front of me as masculinely as possible. Right before this point, I wondered, "what on earth could this person be doing 80 on a two-lane country highway at night for? Surely someone is dying or pregnant." But as soon as this truck pulls around me, I see the obviousness: this particular grey Chevy truck has blue racing stripes. "Oh," I think to myself. "This person is a professional truck-racer. He must think that everyone drives as fast and angry as he does." However, the fact that he was an alleged truck-racer did not explain his rudeness in riding my bumper and swerving around, so I gave him an annoyed hi-beams flash. Jimbo did not like this. He proceeded to come to a full stop on this particular highway. I of course do the same, and stop 20 yards behind him. This is where it gets crazy. Jimbo decides to let me know exactly how he feels about this situation. So, he gets opens his door and steps outside the truck for a moment. I am immediately intimidated by his buzzcut, t-shirt, and grey shorts. (I assume the National Truck-Racing League has pretty lax uniform regulations). He then gives me the hands-up-in-the-air, "Whut? I do what I want. You got a problem, feller?" Something like that, I didn't hear him say anything, but his body language was giving off that special Jerry-Springer, "I-just-found-out-my-mom-is-sleeping-with-my-brother" kind of a vibe. Now more sure of his manhood than ever, he kind of gets back in the truck and peels out as hard as he and his racing truck can. He zooms off in the night, and I cannot stop laughing. I'm still laughing now, but, not as hard. So, folks, there is a moral here: don't pass people unless you are a professional racer, and you have the shorts and the arm-motions to back it up. Stay tuned.