Mr. Red on the Road

Every morning that I nanny, I start work at 7:30. That means I have to get up a little before 7 and leave 15 to 25 minutes before—depending on the weather—to make it to work on time.

This morning when I rolled my sleep deprived self out of bed, it was slightly gusty outdoors. But it was clear and the roads were still bare.

I didn’t even have to clean off my car, so I left with 15 minutes to get there. There was one little fact I forgot about, however.

I live really close to the canal, which is a lot lower ground than the rest of the U.P. When you get off the bridge on either side, you immediately travel up-hill, and in my experience, the weather is worse the higher you get. This slipped my mind this morning, and I was expecting a nice ride to work.

As soon as I got up Quincy hill—to the spot where my car stops sounding like it’s about to croak—it started snowing. The roads had slush and crusty spots of ice, and I had to reduce speed.

My car does not ride good on roads that are any wetter than dry. If there is slush or ice at all, Mrs. Rusty (my car) puts on her ice skates and swerves around wherever she wishes. Of course I want to get to work alive—and I’d rather not spend quality time with the snow banks—so the only way to go is at a turtle’s creep.

I was putsing along at 50 mph like a cute little grandma, when a petite red car pulled out ahead of me down the highway. I caught up in no time, and realized that this red car was being an even cuter grandma and going only 30. Like come on, the roads weren’t the grandest, but visibility was fine. And if you’re going to live in the U.P., you gotta learn to drive here too. Especially in the winter, which is 95% of the year. (Or so it seems.)

So there I was, glancing at the clock every few minutes, while Red Car wasted my time and pretended he was in a bumper car competition. First he’d swerve to the right, hit the rumble strips, then swerve to the left and hit those rumbles. And it wasn’t smooth sailing either. He’d hit the left and crank to the right, so that it looked like his rear end was doing some kind of booty shaking dance.

I don’t know if the driver in the car was drunk, or if they were an old man, or if they had a needle stabbed in their eye and just couldn’t see, but I was ready to gun it when we got to the passing lanes.

I usually pass people on the left as the slow guys keep to the right. Wasn’t happening though. All the road lines were covered with snow at this point, and Mr. Red kept inching forward in the left lane. Before I knew what was happening, all the impatient drivers behind me passed us on our right. And while they did that, brainless Mr. Red stopped in the middle of the road.

Do you know what happens when you press on your brake in the winter? Jerk—jerk—sliiiiiide….squeak! (Fish-tail, fish tail) ‘Til you come to what you’d call a crooked I-almost-just-rammed-you stop.

I should’ve just rear ended him, but I didn’t want my hair to get messed up. So I stopped and politely waited (“Are you kidding me?! How can you be so dumb?! Do you want to get killed or what?!”) while all the other cars passed and Red kept me hostage.

By the way, I really didn’t give a hoot about my hair. I never bother with my mane besides on the weekends, so if you really thought that’s why I stopped, think again.

When all the other cars passed, I zipped around Mr. Red (ROOAAAR!) and I was on my way again. The roads were still bad, but I kept it at 50-ish. When I started slipping one way, I’d just turn the wheel the other way. Maybe my car was doing a booty shaking dance of its own, but at least I wasn’t hitting the rumble strips. And I may be biased, but I think Mrs. Rusty has a better rear than Mr. Red, even if she is starting to get saggy in places.

I made it to work a little late, but I always feel like I’m early other days so it probably kind of evens things out.

Moral of the story: Don’t ever drive 25 miles under the speed limit, or you’ll make people late for work. 


Love, 
Linnaia