You Could Call Me a Criminal but I Prefer to Be Called a Businesswoman…

On the way home tonight I took a wrong turn and became a criminal.

Everything was fine until the guy in the BMW decided to follow me.


Okay, so here’s what happened…

There I was, just cruising down I-93, minding my own business, listening to Rise or Die Trying on MAX VOL (aka "63" according to the radio in the G.B.), singing at the top of my lungs with the windows and the sun roof wide open, with my foot on the accelerator. The wind was blowing, I had my sunglasses on and I’d changed from a sparkly blue sweater (Saltmine garb) into a blue tank top (definitely NOT Saltmine garb—too revealing).

I was feeling pretty good.

My meeting had been cancelled.

I was free.

The next thing I know, there’s a guy in a black BMW tail-gating me. ME.

Naturally, in the beginning I dealt with this behavior in the very same way that has completely failed to work for me in the past…That is to say, I ignored it, figuring that if I did so long enough, he’d get bored with bothering me and go away.

I am Queen of the Passive Aggressive-s.

However, as has been the case in the past, this strategy totally failed to yield positive results. Even though I was going a solid 75 (translation: *cough*80*cough*) he refused to either pass me or drop back so that I couldn’t actually see the pores of his skin in my rear view mirror… Seriously, he was so close to me I could feel his breath on the back of my neck. It was totally ridiculous.

So anyway, I thought, ’well, maybe if I slow down a little, he’ll pass me so I can go back to enjoying my drive—I can just speed up again after he passes…’ So thinking, I took my foot off the accelerator…

He got closer.

He refused to pass me.

Instead, he began flashing his lights at me.

At this point, I started to become quite irate. This rich jerk off was completely spoiling my afternoon drive… A time that I usually use to either decompress after a rough day or on a good day (such as today was) to relive the funny things that the Inmates did and said.

And now…it was being ruined.

I stared hard for a moment into the rear view and examined my tail in greater detail…

The BMW was black, sleek and so shiny in the afternoon sunlight that I could barely look at it for 15 seconds without being blinded by the glare. Behind the wheel sat a guy in black shades. From the distance it was a bit hard to judge facial features or anything like that, all I could see were driving gloves on the hands gripping the wheel and a head of black hair. His face was completely unmoving.

Glancing at my speedometer I saw that I had unconsciously re-applied my foot to the accelerator and was once again up to 3000rpm… Still, this damn guy would not leave me alone…

So that was when I made my move.

I saw my exit coming up; I had passed through Concord and was about to get on I-89 North…I feigned as though I was going to pass the exit and at the last minute cut my wheel a little to the right, sailing onto the exit ramp very nearly on two wheels and nudging the breaks hard.

No dice.

I had to admit, the guy was good. Not only had he avoided hitting me or spinning out, he was still right there on my butt.

That was when I started to freak out just a little…

Was the face familiar at all? Who was this guy? Why was he so intent on following me?

Had I robbed from his family on one of my pirate excursions?

And then I remembered… I HAD seen that stoic face before…

A few years ago, I’d accidentally stumbled onto a drug deal when I was sneaking into Bow Auto Salvage to "liberate" a transmission for an ’89 Plymouth Voyager van for a friend and screwed things up royally for the head honcho… Though at one point during the proceedings I actually ended up stuffed into a toolbox in the back of a Chevy Silverado, I’d made my escape and taken a blowtorch to a mint condition 78’ Mustang as payback…

UH-OH.

The guy who owned the salvage place had looked a lot like this guy… Uh, he must’ve been pretty attached to that car… oops.

How had he managed to find me after three years? And what was he planning to do, other than follow me?

Well, the long and short of it is…I now own a BMW.

Yup. You guessed it…

I got tired of the game rather quickly, pulled over near the Hopkinton exit and got out of my car. I nonchalantly leaned against the door of the G.B. and waited as he got out of his. He didn’t say anything as he walked toward me…

I also said nothing.
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He stopped.

Clearly, he’s learned nothing in three years.

He made the rookie mistake of coming within striking distance of my 4" spiky pirate boots. Using the car as leverage, I launched my foot at his sternum, throwing him over backward, leaving him flopping on the ground like a fish.

I stood over him for a second, shaking my head and then planted my right foot on his chest, pressing just a little too hard. I informed him that from this angle, my boot heel would break his sternum and crack several ribs… The added pressure of my foot and broken bones would most likely puncture one or both of his lungs.

I let him ponder that for a few seconds before I asked him, "Hey, can I have your keys?...And the title to your car?"

What a wimp.

He gave it up without ever speaking a word.

I have no respect for a guy who can’t come up with even ONE semi-witty come back… I value sarcasm (aka Verbal Irony) in the opposite sex.

He was a COMPLETE disappointment in that regard.

Still…

Very nice car.

I’m just sayin’.