I have an obsession with a salad from a restaurant in town called Runza. It’s a sweet berry chicken salad and it’s comprised of all the best things on earth. Packed with craisins, feta cheese, walnuts, grilled chicken, and lettuce it’s nearly perfect. You don’t even need dressing, although it does come with an amazing poppy seed vinaigrette. I once had three in one day. But this post isn’t about the salad and it’s not even really about Jehovah’s Witnesses…really just one. The one who nearly ran me off the road and then, even worse, cut in front of me at the drive-thru delaying my food coma.
For clarity, and because it was fun, I’ve created a diagram to walk you through exactly what took place. I am obviously represented by the Gray Ford Focus (she’s named Thunderdome) with the “Eff” license plate. The perpetrator’s vehicle in this case, is being represented by a clown car. Across the street from my beloved Runza is a Jehovah’s Witness center. While driving down the street, he pulled out of the parking lot in his massive truck and failed to stop at the stop sign tearing into the center of the road and very nearly the front of my car. Luckily, my ninja-like stunt driver skills were activated and we both slammed on our brakes. Throwing my car into park, I stepped out of the car and bent over, noting that maybe six inches separate our bumpers.
When the expletives stopped spilling out of my mouth, I gave him the obligatory hands up in the air and WTF look on my face to which he rolled his eyes and sped off… and into the Runza parking lot… and immediately ahead of me in the drive thru. I took this picture of his truck.
When I finally got to the window I asked, “What did that guy order?” The woman gave me a blank stare her eyes widened and she said, “Uh, a number one with Frings”.
“Of course he did”! I proclaimed loudly, my pointer finger rising in the air with contempt! I then realized there was no meaningful correlation of his ordering a number one and nearly hitting me with his car. And then further acknowledged (silently) that I probably just succeeded in further confusing the Runza worker with my proclamation. She noticeably leaned backwards away from me and handed me my salad carefully as though I would spontaneously combust at any moment. Awkward would be a good word to describe the moment that passed between us.
Driving home, the sweet smell of my salad filling the car with savory goodness, I reflected on what could have happened if he had hit my car and I was conscious for a time but died in a dramatic Grey’s Anatomy-like twist where no one saw it coming and everyone learned a little about themselves in my death. By the time I had run through the potential soundtrack to that episode I was home and no longer angry. I was hungry… and it was the best salad I’ve ever had (since the one I got there yesterday).