Monday 09 January 2012

Van Der Bah

Getting splashed is a curious humiliation. I didn’t get splashed walking to work the other day but I nearly did. I was furious. At nearly getting splashed.

The puddle required an effort for the driver to reach. Yes, it was a van and therefore was bigger than the average vehicle. But it definitely still required a deviation from the middle of the road. Was it careless driving…or malice? My immediate assumption was malice and said lots of angry things; one or two of which were ‘fuck’, or its variations.

Speaking of fuck, fuck knows what I would have done had the van driver seen me and pulled over: I wasn’t saying “that was a smart bit of fucking driving to attack that puddle right next to me and just fucking miss me (you fucking beauty)” that much is sure. I wouldn’t say I have no idea what I would have done; it probably would have involved a swift 180° turn and a chance to stretch my legs. (I assume if the driver was stopping the van and got out to approach me to question my opinion then this faceless driver was also carrying an iron bar and/or a flick knife.) My anger, in other words is brief and short lived. This is not the same thing as being all mouth. My anger just dissipates very quickly.

I am a coward. I just contend that in this scenario it would only be cowardice that would make me run away and not cowardice that made me shout obscenities at someone in all probabilities wouldn’t see and/or respond. So we have established what kind of coward I am?

A Rat in A Cage

Of course I say I had no anger, this is of course not a fact. I had the humming anger – like the noise in a room full of machines (perhaps in a basement that Bruce Willis is looking for a ‘perp’ in); rather than the anger of of a volcano. (Or a man who can fight who is angry).

This humming anger was to be replaced by another anger. Almost a meta-anger if you will as Make Some Noise by The Beastie Boys came on and my initial anger was tranquillized by the beats of Brooklyn’s party boys making me want to dance. There is some pathos in being meta-angry about no longer being actual cowardly-angry at some deranged road maniac because of the 21st century hip-hop beats of some middle-aged men. It is not very good pathos though. Perhaps it is more Porthos than pathos. (He liked music ok? Come on let me have this really poor Musketeer gag in a particularly poor blog…cheers Mister/M’aam!)

And then I saw a class at the school around the corner from work running* around a playing field in the rain as their first lesson of the day and I thought that maybe not – but nearly – being splashed by a van in the rain wasn’t the worst thing even on Lloyd Street, let alone the world. And that maybe I should take a positive out of not being splashed by the van OR being running around a playing field in the rain in shorts and t-shirt.

And that maybe it wasn’t worth visiting a top hypnotist to try and access the part of my brain that might have remembered the license plate of the van (the one from earlier; the one that nearly splashed me) and then paid off a contact at the DMV to get the address of the driver**. And after that tracking the driver down and either; befriending him and convince him that he/she was a really good singer AND THEN convincing them to go on X Factor where they would be really bad and laughed at by everyone and Gary Barlow would say something really mean thus making him/her feel bad; OR, (if they were a good singer, in which case the first option wouldn’t work) hitting them in knees with a lead pipe. After either I would say “HA! You nearly splashed me with your van recently. You regret that now don’t you?”

The perspective I now had made me realise I shouldn’t do this, even though it was clearly rational to do it. And that I should just shrug it off and not think about it again.


*well they were mainly walking if I’m accurate.

** it was a business van so it probably would have involved tracing the business AND THEN bribing an employee to tell me who was driving that specific van (the same one form earlier – the one that nearly splashed me) this morning AND THEN telling me their name and address. Alternatively once I had found out the business I could break in during the middle of the night and check the logs to find out who was driving the van AND THEN break in to the HR department and find the driver’s address from the filing cabinets OR log on to a computer and guess the name and password of the user – using the kind of tricks Sherlock would use – to log in and access the computerised personnel records.

Reconstruction: This IS NOT the actual incident.

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