The Guilty Good Samaritan

Yesterday morning was a typical morning. Awake at five-thirty; dressed by five-forty; waking, dressing, and feeding Darren from five-fifty to six-ten; leaving the house by six-fifteen. Daycare by six-twenty-five and on the road to work by six-thirty.

ETA: time minus twenty-five minutes; speed, a steady sixty-two mph in a fifty-five behind a Ford Super Duty.  I am as happy as a lark that I am making good time.

Until I get outside our little town of Vernon Center.

I hit my brakes as the Super Duty hits his. Groan, we have caught up to ‘put-put.’

‘Put-put’ is any vehicle that go exactly fifty-five or slower on a back country road. As a new acquaintance to country driving I have found no one, including me, drives fifty-five. 

This particular put-put is taking its time and staking claim to both sides of the yellow line. Super Duty is frustrated. Me, I’m terrified and convinced put-put is a drunko and there is going to be a head-on crash. Super Duty tolerates this for about three minutes, and then does the unthinkable.

He passes, so much for those responsible ‘Built Ford Tough’ or ‘Leading by example’ ad campaigns.

Here’s a hint, if you have to use the opposite lane’s shoulder to make sure the car you passing doesn’t side swipe you, you should probably call the police. Nope, he passes the buck.

Now, I am a person who works with my conscience. I know passing the buck is out of the question. ETA: time minus 35 minutes at a painfully slow fifty mph. 

Gripping the steering wheel I watch as put-put slides over the center line again.  Cars are coming in the opposite direction. I am losing my composure.

“Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod!!!”

I grab my phone and dial 9-1-1.  At this point I don’t feel bad, if put-put drunko doesn’t know better to have someone drive him/her home, that is not my fault. Then the dispatcher asks me to get the license plate number.

It has handicap plates. For some reason this makes me feel horrible. Because now this person is probably not a drunko, it’s probably just an elderly person stating their independence and refusing to give up driving.

The dispatcher tells me to throw on my flashers to a cop can locate us. A few minutes later I am switching lanes watching the red and blues flashing as put-put gets pulled over.

I cringe. I am relieve the person is off the road, but I don’t feel like the Good Samaritan. Actually, pretty sure I ruined that person’s day.

 Go Figure, and I am late for work.