Those who malign soccer moms for driving behemoth SUVs have not visited our neighborhood. Women, whose appearance indicates they retired when Clinton was in office, operate these mechanical beasts. They have to take Advil just to climb up into the SUV and have sight lines that range somewhere between the dashboard and steering wheel.
A recent visit to the local self-serve pump revealed the extremes these doyennes will deploy to fuel these giants. Activity was churning at full tilt with customers waiting in orderly queues. Suddenly out of nowhere, a red SUV wedged in front of a white SUV with inches to spare.
Closer inspection revealed the drivers of both SUV’s were not soccer moms hauling a boatload of kiddos, but single passenger, snow haired, elderly women. You know the type; someone’s granny who gives ugly sweaters and mittens every Christmas.
Big White became enraged at having her spot hijacked. She leaned on the horn, launching Big Red into mid air fright. Big Red recovered, feigned an innocent expression and threw up both hands in a gesture of helplessness. She could not move forward, backwards nor sideways, had she been inclined to surrender the slot. However, her expression indicated “relinquish” was not in her DNA. Big White lowered the window and let loose with an expletive reminiscent of Gangsta rap lyrics. I heard a thud as Big Red’s windows rose and locked. She peered into her rear view window and gestured wildly; fists thrust in the air and mouthed what I appeared to be an upgrade of four letter words, accompanied by a single digit salute aimed at Big White.
Our car would not hold another ounce of fuel. Hubby’s sense of adventure does not extend to the spectator sport of cat fighting and he refused to wait for the swat team to arrive. I did not get to see how this peccadillo ended.
Action at the neighborhood self-serve gas pump is better than a front row seat at the roller derby or a mud wrestling event. Next time we need fuel I’m going alone and bringing popcorn.