Dear Sacramento Road Rager

Dear Sir,

I was on my way to chemo today, enjoying the warm weather.  I was behind your red SUV-type car.  I couldn't see the name of it, but it was awfully cute.  I mused on my own car - 13 years old and falling apart but who would buy a new car now in my condition?  I would love a new car like you had but wasn't sure what brand it was. A ranger or something maybe?  I wasn't close enough to see, I guess.

Equally cute was your bulldog, whose head was out the fully open back window, sniffing the air.  When a bulldog sniffs, it looks charming, by the way.  The black and white dog was clearly smelling things way beyond my capability, and I was enjoying imagining the scent molecules wafting in the breeze, catching his squished nostrils, and seeing his whole face scrunching as he found his delicacies.

I was not able to see you, the driver.  However, when we went past a high school and you slammed on your brakes, I looked over and saw a teenage girl walking and your hand waving.  I assumed you either knew her or wanted to, and perhaps were either a young male or somebody's mother.  So I decided it was in my best interests to go around you.  Lots of young girls were walking as school had just gotten out, and you may come upon more friends.  Besides, the way you slammed on your brakes so suddenly, I feared that your little dog would tumble out the window and end up under my wheels.

I won't be responsible for bulldog deaths.

I passed you to the right and then moved over again as I would be making a left turn soon.  I made sure I didn't cut you off, and in fact, there were few on the road so I gave you a lot of room.  I had at least a mile until my left turn, so no rush.

Since I could no longer focus on your animal, I started listening to the podcast that I had on.  Armstrong and Getty, who never fail to make me laugh.  I was quite enjoying my ride to chemo on this beautiful spring day, with flowers blooming and sun sparkling.

I came to a light, which was the second to the last light before I was at the hospital.  I was interested in the radio conversation about the poor abducted girls in Ohio, when suddenly, there you were, pounding on my window, screaming obscenities at me about my poor driving.

Frankly, I was terrified.  I have no idea what you were angry about, nor why you swearing so violently at me while slamming your fists on my car.  My driving, in my mind, was not poor: when you slammed on your brakes I didn't hit you, and I did avoid you after that, which I was taught was called defensive driving.

Was it the dog?  Was I not supposed to look at your dog?

Unfortunately, I was too shocked at your pounding on my windows and screaming obscenities at me to grab my phone and take pictures; although I did notice you were an attractive young man at about 26 with dark hair and and a mustache, well-groomed, who didn't look like the type who would go insane for no reason.  Guess you can't tell by appearance.   I did manage to say I was on my way to chemo and to leave me alone, fearing you were about to open my unlocked car and pull me out of it, and in my mind, perhaps your knowing I was going to chemo would help you realize there was not going to be a fight. (Although I knew it would garner no sympathy.)  Silly me, the 25 year age difference didn't register as also being a reason for no fight.

Fortunately, the light changed and being in front, I sped off, leaving you behind.  I watched as you got back in your car, switched lanes and made a right turn, and breathed a sigh of relief that I would be able to go to the hospital and find a parking space without fear of reprisal.

Reprisal?  For what though?  Looking at your dog?  Going around you when you slammed your breaks to check out a girl?   Clearly, my offense is something only you know, something you imagined in your rage-filled world.  And, your poor dog who fell back when the brakes were hit; a dog you left with a window wide open to come berate me,  a dog you probably would tell people you loved but didn't think about at that time, probably didn't understand either.

Anyway, congratulations.  You are a big, important man, threatening a 99 pound middle-aged terminally ill women on her way to chemotherapy for an imagined driving offense.  Way to go.  Way to live a life too, one that might allow you 50 more years; with hate, anger and the desire to abuse.  I venture to say that I will be happier with my one year than you are with your 50.

So, thank you.  You really taught me a lesson.   I will drive much better now.  I won't look at people's pets no matter how cute they are and how far they are sticking out the back window.  And, rather than go around a car that brakes suddenly, I'll just hit them.  After all, I have nothing to lose.

I imagine you are quite proud of yourself right now as you crack your first (?) beer of the day, and are justifying your actions against this old woman who shouldn't be on the street.  I would love to be in that brain and see how it happens, just like I'd love to be in a dog's brain as they sniff stuff we can't see.

I imagine the intelligence level is about the same.

~~~

Medically I was unable to get chemo, as my white count was only .7.   Not unsurprising.  Tomorrow, I have an appointment with an internvential radiologist to see if there is something we can do about this stubborn tumor locally.  SBRT may be what they are looking at.   I also have another MUGA and a Chest X-Ray.  So,  I will be driving out there again tomorrow and several times next week.  I will definitely watch for bulldogs, this time camera at the ready.  I know you'd have loved to have seen this nutcase.