Reason #435 Why You Are A DB For Spending That Much On A Car

I just got home from my mom's house and aside from being hella-sore from gardening at her place I was left shaken by a few close calls on the highway.  And to make matters worse I did the 80 mile drive a propane tank in my passenger seat that I stole from mom's garage so I can finally grill something on the grill I put together a month ago.

The first glance at my life flashing before my eyes came in the form of a motorcycle driver who thought it would be fun to ride the shoulder, zipping past all the paltry cars that were forced to stay within the yellow lines.  That was, until he was right next to me which is where the shoulder came to an end due to us all entering a construction zone.  So he was forced to slam on his breaks, cut in front of me, which then forced me to slam on MY breaks and how we avoided a massive pile up I will never know.  And of course, the best thing was the lovely gesture the motorcycle guy presented me with which I am pretty sure didn't stand for "Thanks for not running me over".

Next was a run-in with the cliche of all cliches, the old lady in a Cadillac.  Seems she couldn't decide which lane she should have been in to pay the toll.  I can only assume she didn't have an iPass (Illinois's toll paying device) by the way she decided to randomly drift out of the left lane into mine; actually, into the space I was still occupying with my car.  All of this just so she could make it over to the manned toll booths.  So I managed to find my horn to warn the lady that I was in the lane and she couldn't come over.  But she must have been so anti-technology because obviously had forgotten to replace her hearing aid battery because she ignored the horn and decided to come over anyway.  Luckily at this point the shoulder had re-appeared and I was able to swerve and avoid death by fiery accident involving the exploding propane tank.

But my drive home wasn't all fear of dying and white-knuckle driving techniques.  I was cruising along, doing about 80 miles an hour in my happy little KIA Sportage, singing along with Jai Ho at volume 90 when I notice a red Ferrari pull up in the left lane next to me.  So we are both cruising along, neither one of us passing the other, glancing occasionally at the other car.  I was so pre-occupied with trying to decide if he had bought the hideous shirt he was wearing or had received it as a gift that I didn't notice the State Trooper until we had passed him.  Of course he pops his lights and whips out after us, in my lane.   I am so sure I am going to be pulled over that I start panicking that I may not have my insurance on me and wondering if it is illegal to drive with propane.  But no, the lovely Illinois State Trooper switches lanes and ends up busting the dude in the sports car.  I am sure he thought "Hmm, KIA Sportage with young woman driving or DB with slicked hair in a red Ferrari convertible?"  Actually I think about 99% of all cops would have made the same choice.  So I breathed a sigh of relief and reduced my speed, just in case karma wasn't on my side and the cop had a buddy waiting for me.

Most of the time driving is a life-or-death-Jason-Statham-movie-inspired-race-for-your-life but occasionally it is all worth it to see some DB get busted for speeding.

~The Office Scribe

Living Green

I either live in the greenest building in North America or people just don't believe in throwing out their garbage.

I live in the condo unit closest to the garbage chute and I NEVER see anyone put anything in there.  And I don't spend all my time with my face pressed up against the peep hole spying on my neighbors (I only do that about 4 hours a day) but in the year plus I have lived here you would think I would have seen someone else put something in there.  But alas I seem to be the only person living here to create trash.

And I doubt that they are being all nice to the cleaning crew by taking stuff straight out the dumpster.  Because (A) I don't think people are that nice and (B) there are raccoons the size of Buicks that live in them and I know I don't want to come face to face with them.

I watch them carry the fruits of their shopping labors into the building, so I just want to know, where does the trash go?

~ The Office Scribe

Two Signs That General Mills is Coo-Coo For Cocoa Puffs

Sign Number One

Step One: Go to Google and search for General Mills Latin America

Step Two: Click on the first link, which brings you to the General Mills Latin America page.

Step Three: Scroll down to the list of countries and figure out which country doesn’t really belong. (Can’t figure it out? Then send your resume to General Mills immediately.)

Sign Number Two

Follow Steps One and Two Above

Step Three: Click on the link for Argentina

Step Four: Hide out in a cabin in the woods writing about the impending Martian war as predicted by the General Mills Latin America website. (Don’t bother clicking the link for more information – the e-mail address doesn’t work.)

I discovered these two flaws while doing a little research on General Mills yesterday (don’t ask) and now I want to know more. But sadly Trix won’t return my calls.

~The Office Scribe