Life in the slow lane.....

As a young man, fresh out of college and working my very first job in corporate America, my dreams were big, but the salary was lagging behind the dreams. As is the case with most entry level jobs, the wages were low, the hours were long, and most of the assignments were monotonous.

In addition to the tedium of the job, I was faced with the first rush-hour commute of my life. For some reason, every major corporation felt the need to have their corporate offices within the confines of "downtown". Therefore, at approximately the same hour every morning, thousands of people driving thousands of cars, converged onto the two major arteries wending their way to town.

Not only was the commute time consuming, it was also quite expensive for a fledgling corporate drone. Fortunately for me there were many others sharing the same dilemma, and it was not unusual to see the bulletin board filled with notes....."ride needed"...."carpool opportunity"...."pay to ride". All one needed to do was find the right address, make a phone call, and voila.....instant carpool.

Soon after I made that fateful phone call, Jim, Charlie, and I were sharing the driving duties from the southeast suburbs into downtown. The expressway of choice was the most direct route into downtown, but it seemed to be constantly undergoing some type of construction, narrowing from four lanes to three lanes, then to two lanes as it dumped thousands of cars onto the one-way streets leading to acres of asphalt parking lots.

We were seated three abreast in Jim's old Ford pickup. The fan for the A/C was working great, but the air was blowing hot, just like outside.....Ugh, summer in Oklahoma.  We were nearing downtown and gradually making our way over to the right lanes as directed by the signs and orange barrels.....slowing to a crawl....sweating and thinking about another day at the office. Suddenly a very old, very large, very dirty car swerved to avoid the barrels and cut us off short!  Tires shrieked on the hot asphalt, and expletives filled the air, adding to the already overheated cab of our ride.

Jim Saporito was Italian, and Italians are sometimes known to have short, volatile tempers......I glanced over at Jim and watched his neck and face begin to redden. His lips were thin and drawn tight. Then, the driver of the very old, very large, very dirty car raised his hand to give a little wave of thanks for allowing him to cut in.

Wrong move.

Jim's equally old, large, dirty pickup suddenly lurched forward and "gently bumped" the car being driven by that ever so polite man who had waved at us. Dirt that had been caked underneath that old car for years raised little puffs of dust as it hit the roadway. Meanwhile, a smile slowly crept across Jim's face as he said, "I was okay with the SOB until he had the nerve to give us that little wave."

The next time you're tempted to race up to the front of the line and cut someone off in order to save yourself a couple of minutes, you might want to remember the story of Jim and his old pickup....It might just happen again, but what do I know.