Pinky’s personalised number plates arrived in the post a couple of days ago and I suppose that means I’m going to have to be very careful on the road in my ridiculously conspicuous automobile. Not only is my car a garish yellow hue which screams out for attention, but now I can be unmistakably identified by these beauties:
There will be no more saluting fellow road users with the bird, no more stealing car parks and no more driving slowly in the right hand lane because I need to turn right five kilometres up the road.
Oh no… Pinky is going to have to turn over a new leaf as far as bad driving habits go.An overly resourceful editor at our local newspaper deemed it an innovative idea to print pages and pages of contributions from the general community under the banner of, “Text the Editor”.
All sorts of anonymous know-it-alls send in whinging, cantankerous texts about issues as banal and trifling as;
Oh no… Pinky is going to have to turn over a new leaf as far as bad driving habits go.An overly resourceful editor at our local newspaper deemed it an innovative idea to print pages and pages of contributions from the general community under the banner of, “Text the Editor”.
All sorts of anonymous know-it-alls send in whinging, cantankerous texts about issues as banal and trifling as;
“Nbors in Pott st pls shut ur dog up!” to “Hottie driving green ute @ Kmart on Tues, r u single?”
(Pinky used to be a regular contributor to these pages until she realised she could get away with writing a sh#t load more rubbish in a blog.)
I can just imagine some mean, nasty person texting some form of cyber road rage like this;
“Gr8 move Pinky P on Sat wen u cut me off at roundabout. Ur drivin suks. Get off the road Grandma!”
I know you’ll be shocked but I have actually experienced an incident of real road rage.
It was many years ago as I was making a right hand turn across three lanes of oncoming traffic to get to the McDonald’s drive through. I began to tentatively cross when I suddenly noticed a white Hilux coming directly for me and a lot closer than it had first appeared.
Too late to stop, I thought, so I gunned it and made it across safely. The driver of the Hilux must have got a bit of a fright because I did notice (heard) him hit the brakes abruptly. Oh well, I thought, no harm done.
As we were waiting at the drive-through for our Maccas to be passed out, an angry bearded face appeared at my car window. The Hilux driver must have done a U-turn and followed us into Maccas.
“What the f#ck did you think you were doing back there!” he screamed, spitting in my face. “People like you shouldn’t be allowed to drive. You could have killed my son and I, you stupid bloody woman.”
He stormed away before I had a chance to defend myself.
My kids sitting in the back of the car were outraged and frightened at the same time, after the bullying tirade.
As soon as we arrived home I headed straight for the phone book. Little did Mr Hilux know but I had recognised him. His name was ‘James Nutter’ and I’d been in a theatrical production with him several years before.
Unfortunately for him, I happen to have an excellent memory for faces.
His wife answered the phone. “Hello,” I said sweetly, “Could I please speak to Mr James Nutter?”
“Of course,” answered his unsuspecting wife, “May I say who’s calling?”
“Why yes of course, tell him it’s Pinky Poinker!”
“Hello Pinky?” came the cheery and curious Mr Nutter on the line.
“Hello, Mr Nutter, this is the woman you just abused in front of all my children at McDonald’s!”
You could have heard a French fry drop.
“How did you find me?” he wheezed.
After I pointed out to him at some length that he had been driving a white car at dusk with no lights on, and that there had actually been enough time for my manoeuvre after all, he begrudgingly apologised for his behaviour.
“Perhaps you should learn to keep your temper in check, Mr Nutter!” I lectured pompously.
The moral of the story is this;
“If you're horrible to me, I'm going to write a song about it, and you won't like it. That's how I operate.”
(Pinky used to be a regular contributor to these pages until she realised she could get away with writing a sh#t load more rubbish in a blog.)
I can just imagine some mean, nasty person texting some form of cyber road rage like this;
“Gr8 move Pinky P on Sat wen u cut me off at roundabout. Ur drivin suks. Get off the road Grandma!”
I know you’ll be shocked but I have actually experienced an incident of real road rage.
It was many years ago as I was making a right hand turn across three lanes of oncoming traffic to get to the McDonald’s drive through. I began to tentatively cross when I suddenly noticed a white Hilux coming directly for me and a lot closer than it had first appeared.
Too late to stop, I thought, so I gunned it and made it across safely. The driver of the Hilux must have got a bit of a fright because I did notice (heard) him hit the brakes abruptly. Oh well, I thought, no harm done.
As we were waiting at the drive-through for our Maccas to be passed out, an angry bearded face appeared at my car window. The Hilux driver must have done a U-turn and followed us into Maccas.
“What the f#ck did you think you were doing back there!” he screamed, spitting in my face. “People like you shouldn’t be allowed to drive. You could have killed my son and I, you stupid bloody woman.”
He stormed away before I had a chance to defend myself.
My kids sitting in the back of the car were outraged and frightened at the same time, after the bullying tirade.
As soon as we arrived home I headed straight for the phone book. Little did Mr Hilux know but I had recognised him. His name was ‘James Nutter’ and I’d been in a theatrical production with him several years before.
Unfortunately for him, I happen to have an excellent memory for faces.
His wife answered the phone. “Hello,” I said sweetly, “Could I please speak to Mr James Nutter?”
“Of course,” answered his unsuspecting wife, “May I say who’s calling?”
“Why yes of course, tell him it’s Pinky Poinker!”
“Hello Pinky?” came the cheery and curious Mr Nutter on the line.
“Hello, Mr Nutter, this is the woman you just abused in front of all my children at McDonald’s!”
You could have heard a French fry drop.
“How did you find me?” he wheezed.
After I pointed out to him at some length that he had been driving a white car at dusk with no lights on, and that there had actually been enough time for my manoeuvre after all, he begrudgingly apologised for his behaviour.
“Perhaps you should learn to keep your temper in check, Mr Nutter!” I lectured pompously.
The moral of the story is this;
“If you're horrible to me, I'm going to write a song about it, and you won't like it. That's how I operate.”
(-replace ‘song’ with ‘post’ and ‘Taylor Swift’ with ‘Pinky’.)
