Nov. 18, 1999
What a damn shitty fuckin' day. I can't even think of where to start. Maybe it was when I woke up and stepped on that damn CD case. Sykes stopped up the drain with his damn shedding hair again. I come back in my room and behold, the computer just decided to restart itself. Why'd I quit smoking? So I threw my clothes on and went to class - geology. Who was it who told me that it would be interesting? Oh yeah, me. That was a mistake. Well anyways it didn't last long 'cuz I just walked out halfway through class. Yeah well who gives a shit, right? The rest of the afternoon took forever. Caferro's lecture wasn't too bad, but it was all stuff I know - at least it made me forget about geology.
Got an English paper back today - got an 86 on what she called a "very good paper". Then why'd it get an 86? In my opinion 86 is above average, not exceptional - besides even my average papers usually pull low A's. I sat through the rest of the class thinking about it being over - she was having us talk about some handout that I hadn't read. Why would I? I'm not being tested over it? I've written my paper already. What the?
Well class finally ended, I headed straight for my truck. That's what I needed - to forget about everything and just drive. Just go. The wind in my hair, Pat Green on the CD player. Yeah, that would be nice. My spirits actually lifted as I covered the half mile to where I'd parked. I tossed my backpack in the passenger seat and hopped in. Maybe I'd go check out 19" monitors, or a new computer desk. After all, I can't wait to transfer next year, get the hell out of Tennessee. Might as well get into what part of it I can.
The truck starts with a deep roar, drawing the looks of the worthless VUPD that are out on their deck. One of them tells me to slow down. Fuck that. I get the truck out on to West End, where for a change traffic is light. There was a wreck to the east or something…all I could see were the sirens. No problem to me, I'd get on 440 faster that way. In no time I was there, getting over with all the other sheep so that I wouldn't be routed onto 21st. What the hell is wrong with their city engineers anyways? Can they not keep a lane going for more than like a mile? I have yet to see it.
With a flick of the wrist I'm in the left lane - its still slow, but at least I'm not going 30. Before I know it I pass 21st - the turn off onto I-65 is about a mile and half out. I start looking for an opening to change lanes. The minivan on my right is far enough ahead of me…but wait…there's some fucking Mercury taking up the back half of my truck's length. I can't slow down or speed up, I'm stuck. Nashville doesn't cater to tactical drivers. I inch over a bit…the Mercury doesn't flinch. Finally I give in a put on my blinker. I mean, its traffic - I HAVE to get over, and most people will at least let you in. The Mercury just doesn't move. I'm looking back over my shoulder, my knuckles are white on the steering wheel. I see it's a woman - she looks like a bitch. Let me the fuck in! I scream, loud enough to be heard over the Pat Green. The bitch doesn't move. Half a mile. I've never had this problem before. I'm getting really pissed. A thought crosses through my head - get over anyways. Screw her.
The thought actually entertains me. I hate this fucking city. I hate the goddamn rednecks, the stupid roads, the fact that EVERYTHING closes at 9 pm, regardless. I hate the cops, the rudeness, the roads, even the city is ugly. The bitch is still there. I could feel the smile grow on my face, it was as if I wasn't in control of myself. My right arm pulled down, and the 'Rado swung right. There was the crunch of metal behind me. My truck turned sluggish for a second as the tire rubbed against the bitch's door. I look in the mirror to see her drop her cell phone as the wheel cuts hard right on her. Its too late. That damn Mercury hits a spin and smashes into the Ford Ranger next to it, carrying both off the road. I see the Ranger smack the limestone wall. Kick ass - the lane's open. I turn on my signal and get over. People are giving me a wide berth now.
As I hit 65 I wonder what sort of damage I did to the truck, so I get off at 100 Oaks and check it out. Surprisingly, there's no denting or scratching of the paint. Yeah the bumper's all fucked, and so is the rear tire - in fact its green from the car's paint, but that's it. There's green paint on the side of the truck bed as well, but it wipes away with my finger. That's fucking awesome! I think to myself. I just took out a car - I mean she was in my way and just being a total bitch - she deserved it - and all I suffered was a fucked up bumper and a green tire. Chevy's rule!