The skunk by the outhouse.
written by Julie R. Neidlinger 0 comments link this postTalk about your stinkers.
Today, on the last day of the trip, I did the driving. I'm a pretty good driver. I've not been in an accident as a driver, nor hit a deer, nor gotten a speeding ticket. I've driven in lots of cities and in the mountains and in the desert of the Southwest. I've followed maps, planned complex itineraries, booked flights, traveled internationally on my own, followed instructions written on the back of a paper napkin.
I've done some traveling and driving in my time. I am fully up to the job.
Today, as we left a hotel in Knoxville where part of the group stayed, I found myself with five backseat drivers, TomTom (the GPS system) yammering his own directions, and me with absolutely no patience left.
"Goddamn it, I can drive!"
That's what I hollered.
Shameful.
The car got quiet. The atlas, which had been passed back and forth with different (and conflicting) suggestions being offered to me, was stilled. I floored it, made a U-turn, jammed the accelerator to the floor, and went roaring onto I-40 east. I followed the detour signs only to hear more comments of "I don't think this is right" and "we're heading north -- this isn't right."
I know how to read a road sign!!!
I maintained the deadly silence that befalls me when I am ready to rip heads off, answering in overly polite, clipped tones.
The problem here is that the entire vehicle of passengers, which had ridden safely and sleepily all day with me doing the driving through some of Illinois, Kentucky, Nashville, and on into Knoxville, had no complaints. No problems then, but suddenly they doubted my ability to drive after me missing one entrance and everyone trying to over-correct me. I had to listen to my dad suggest the place and best way to do a three point turn, and watch as he began to brace himself as I was driving, as if I was one moment from mishap. I had to hear all kinds of suggestions on how we ought to be heading south again. My 15-year-old nephew even spoke up while I was pulling into the temporary guest spot at the resort where we were to check-in, clearly thinking I couldn't even figure that out.
This is really angering to me. I get no respect (sorry, Rodney) from family on a certain level, always the "baby" of the family or somehow inept, and will always be incapable or something.
I. Can. Drive.
I can.
People in other walks and situations of life have no doubt of my abilities, but because I had to suffer through the hollering of five backseat drivers and make U-turns and have to suffer through patronizing "look, this is our exit, you're doing good, Julie" and "calm down, you're OK" comments -- suddenly, my 15-year-old nephew has come to believe I can't even pull up to a hotel the right way.
Thank you, family, for helping instill that in his mind.
My sister drove to the grocery store after we'd unpacked; I don't think I'll do any more driving for this bunch ever again. I'd have liked to have seen any of those backseat drivers put up with all that ruckus and confusion and come out smelling like a rose.
And speaking of things smelling good...
This resort (Wyndham condos or something) here in the Tennessee Smoky Mountains is fabulous -- way above my price range and I feel shabby here, as if I should be a maid or something. And the rotten ending to a day that had been going so well really tainted it. But the presence of the skunk by the outhouse on the construction site, as I walked to the office and the computer, made me feel a little better. Somehow.
At least I wasn't the only one stinking up the day.
Note: This post written while two people waiting for the computer sat behind me and talked and made it clear they were waiting, waiting, waiting for me to finish. The wrong day to push my buttons, people, the wrong day. Just shut up with y'all for five minutes so I can write @&^!0% it.
Labels: family, my life, rant, travel
Copyright (c) Julie R. Neidlinger 5/20/2008 07:55:00 PM
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