Existential Impotence

People who drive fast on streets but mostly through parking lots,

lots in strip malls or big indoor malls or any kind of mall, bug me,

but what really bugs me are people who drive fast through my condo

association’s parking lot.  My goodness, there are speed bumps

and association stop signs (which I understand are not legally binding

stop signs as I was told by a young woman who I yelled at who flew

through one of them on her way to fifty feet ahead only to stop on the

road potentially blocking anyone else from getting through in

order to get to the condo mailboxes), but for some of the folk, particularly

young folk, apparently the bumps are just fun to fly over and stop signs

are just fun to fly through.  By the way, the young woman I yelled at for

flying through the stop sign stood there for a moment after she got

out of her car in incredulity and indignation with one hand on her cocked

hip and yelled back at me, “No one has ever criticized my driving

in here before.”  Well, hell, they should have I wanted to yell back but,

after all I had already yelled at her, I thought. But what really got

me was the other night around eight-thirty as I was walking my

Chocolate Lab back toward the condo at exactly the same

place I saw the young woman fly through the non-binding stop sign, I

saw a Mazda 3 just about jump the speed bumps and ignore the

non-binding stop sign, fly up the hill and turn on a dime into a parking

space.  That was it!  After dark, speeding like it was the Indian-

apolis 500.  I charged up the hill screaming bloody murder, dog in tow.

A preppy looking, thirty something kid who emerged from the

car wanted to know why I was yelling.  I kept yelling and he played

mister cool to my raving banshee and then it was a battle of

wits and because I had had three glasses of wine I barely held my own.

Well, in reality, I made an ass of myself and had to put a note

on his windshield the next morning: “I apologize for my behavior.

Please drive more slowly.”  It had been sometime during

the night I realized what was going on.  I have been retired for two

years and in the morning in the bathroom wrap around mirror

(“Damn that mirror,” I said echoing the nasty queen.) I see sagging stuff,

white hair on my head and less of it. People who drive fast bug

me, people who drive fast through my condo parking lot really bug me

but what really, really bugs me is that I feel existentially impotent.

2 thoughts on “Existential Impotence

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