As I was sitting again at a stoplight on Randall Road this morning meagerly minding my own matters, I casually looked to my left and noticed a dude in a car beside me having his breakfast. It was an Egg McBiscuit from McDonald’s. Or whatever they call them.
In another era I, too, ate mobile breakfast sandwiches behind the wheel before work so I knew of his quest.
This scene is my truck. I’m barreling north on Randall Road and need to turn left at the next intersection. There’s a handful of cars that are also barreling south toward the intersection. Because everybody’s got to get to work.
The light is green for both sides. Timing will be close but the southbound traffic has the downhill advantage. I add a little acceleration to the equation. A little horsepower to even the odds.
The light turns yellow so I slow down and then stop at the red light.
I’m always grateful when the cosmos saves me from myself. 😊
I think what annoys me most about driving on Randall Road is that the speed limit is 45 mph but with the sheer amount of daytime traffic and number of stoplights by the Commons, I never get to actually go 45.
See, if I can just get around these other cars I can enjoy the Road Warrior speeds as posted by the Illinois Department of Transportation. Or whoever makes up the speed limits. But no, I’m stuck not even going half that.
Like when I’m waiting behind the lady in Walgreens on State Street who’s fighting with the cashier about which M&M varieties are buy-one, get-one free.
No wait, it’s more like when I turned into the pasta aisle at Super Target on the east side of St. Charles to grab a jar of Newman’s Own Marinara but then there’s this dude and his cart blocking ALL THE SAUCES as he tries to pick out which Bertolli to buy. Just get the Tomato & Basil and let people move on with their lives.
I can see my favorite red sauce. There on the other side of his cart. It’s almost within my grasp but I just can’t quite get to it. But it’s right there. Just a few feet away.
But no, I don’t get to have my non-chunky pasta sauce nor do I get to drive the maximum speed limit on this north-south county highway. Because I can’t have nice things.
And yes, lady driving next to me: I am brushing my teeth while driving. I’m on my way to the dentist.
My favorite thing to do Tuesday around 5 o’clock is drive down Randall Road.
In other news I generally get to this point in life and then give up not long after. It’s like there’s some invisible hump that I just can’t get over. One time I did go a little bit farther but then I still gave up. Sometimes I don’t have the energy to keep fighting the good fight.
The cosmo says to expect miracles. OK, I’m patiently waiting.
Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret.
And finally… while driving to pick Maggie up I saw this on a farm marquee:
THANKS FOR A GREAT SUM SEE YOU IN THE SPRING
That made me feel good. I do have a pretty great SUM.
When I was driving to work this morning a sheriff’s car was behind me in the other lane. As we approached the intersection on Randall and 64 the stoplight turned yellow. I slowed down and stopped because I’m sure the sheriff had his eye on me. And of course my license plates are expired.
So then the sheriff gunned his car and blew through the red light. No sirens, no lights, just horsepower. Whether or not he was within his law enforcement privileges to do such isn’t important to what I’m writing here.
What is relevant is that at one time in my life I would’ve thought to myself, “Eff’ing cops.”
But I don’t think that way anymore. There are only policemen. Some are good, some are bad. Just because one guy does something doesn’t mean that I should throw out the whole lot.
Just the same, I don’t think of the “damn Mexicans” anymore. Nor do I think of the “stupid white boys” or the “blood sucking lawyers” or the “strung out crackheads” or the “christian zealots” or even the “soccer moms.”
Taking time to know people from those groups, talking with them, learning about their lives and struggles, wins and loses — all of that — has only made my life better. It’s made me a bigger person, bigger than the small town cracker I was growing up in Iowa.
Okay fine, we can categorize people. There may be some truths in stereotypes. But there’s a difference between that and judging people, condemning a whole race or social group.
I don’t know about you guys but I don’t like being lumped into a group because of what somebody else did or didn’t do. I want to be judged based on who I am and what I do.
At the end of the day we’re all just humans. You’ll find good and bad in any group. I want to look for the good. I’ll never go wrong with seeing people as individuals and making new friends.