"I was waving ..."

Ever wanted to have your say with the pain-in-the-arse driver that just displayed an appalling lack of manners and road etiquette?

We were driving to pick up the eldest girl-child from school this afternoon. Friday is my day to pick up Ruby and we both look forward to it. But it’s a fraught journey from my work, as it seems to take forever and I only just make it on time each week. I hyperventilate, I worry, I speed (shhh) … all because in my head I can hear my little 5-year-old crying at the school door when her Mummy isn’t there to collect her. So I know – it’s important to get to school on time. I realize that.

Today, the chap behind us from Silverdale thru to the school was hyperventilating slightly more than me … thankfully my husband was driving, as I think my road rage would have got the better of me if I had been driving. Anyways … this plonker is right up our butts. Then won’t let us ‘merge like a zip’ … he’s determined we’re not getting in. Thankfully, hubby of mine decided enough was enough and damn well merged like a zip … We started to mutter about the rude bugger behind us.

Then we got to the lights at which we turn right … and as we’re going into the right-turn lane, who’s there, but plonker head, trying to overtake us on the wrong side of the road. Hmm. In a 50km zone. Ok, we know you’re trying to get there by 3, but now you’re being plain stupid and dangerous. I look behind me … ok, I throw him one of my mummy ‘you better not mess with me’ glares. He pulls the finger at me (ooh!). I glare some more. Then Owen says “that’s xxx’s dad.” “who?” I say … “xxx … she’s in Ruby’s class.” Ha ha ha ha ha, I start laughing. I glance behind once again to get a good look at his face. I decide I’m going to have my say with this ‘gentleman’.

I wait outside Ruby’s class like a good Mumma (dickhead disappeared to park somewhere else, apparently). Ruby greets me as she always does on a Friday … “Mummy!” Big hug, excited chatter. I hug back, casting an eye over her shoulder to see if I can spot him. I do. Ferk – he’s huge. Big ginga fella with muscles and boots. I re-think my intent to have my say. Then I decide, no, bugger it. So when he comes out with his daughter, I step into line with them … “you look mighty familiar” I say. “Nope, don’t think I do” he says. “yes … you look just like the chap who gave me the finger about 5 minutes ago” … “no, I was waving” Here, I decide that I want to make this ‘friendly’ as we may well meet again, so I say “nope, that was definitely the finger … don’cha hate that? Turns out to be a parent in the same class!?” with a small (and slightly terrified and shocked at my daring) kind of laugh. He just said “yep” and walked away. However, him being a ginga … and kind of fair skinned … the bright red blush over his entire neck and face gave me the satisfaction I craved.

I hope next time I’m driving to Ruby’s school he has a few more manners. Or I’ll have to make him blush again. Him in his muscles and his boots.