The downside to living in a small town is that there’s not always a lot of jobs available, especially in this economy. Consequently, I have to commute to work every day. It’s roughly 20 miles one way, which really isn’t too bad in the long run.
Unless I get stuck behind….*drums of doom*….the Pinto.
I hate the Pinto.
It’s a rusted, burnt orange color with wood-paneled sides. Yes, that’s right. Wood-freaking-paneling. The bumper is literally held together by duct tape. Orange duct tape,to be exact. And it is incapable of driving more than 45mph. I don’t think it could go faster if it tried. I happen to be a speed demon. Unless my tires are rotating at 65mph or more (70 is preferable) then I’m just not satisfied. I have the misfortune of living in a state that thinks 55mph is a sufficient highway speed. I tend to traverse the roads in a white-knuckled rage, chanting to myself, “Must. Go. Faster.” The car in front of me never senses my distress. The drivers continue along, blissfully unaware of my tormented soul screaming at them.
You can therefore see my dilemma when it comes to the Pinto of Doom. If I get to a point where there aren’t any passing lanes, I find myself wanted to stab something. Or someone. I usually just end up beating myself senseless against the steering wheel. The REAL bummer is when I get stuck behind the Pinto of Doom in the very last stretch of road, because I always take the back highway to my workplace. It’s a lovely drive, which is part of the reason I choose to take it, but it’s also a very winding road. A long and winding road. *queue nostalgic Beatles music here*
Unfortunately, Pinto of Doom works literally one block away from my workplace. If I can’t take advantage of the few passing lanes on Long and Winding Road, I’m stuck until my workplace. My crankypants are pulled up and drawn tight by that point, and there’s no taking ‘em off. People give me the strangest look when I see it drive through town and I begin screaming, “The Pinto! The PINTO!”
Fortunately, the cranky that builds up on my way to work is usually stripped away by my lovely co-workers, or sometimes even the doctors themselves. (Yesterday, the highlight of my day was provided by none other than Second-In-Command Doctor talking about his “shrinkage.” Yes, he actually used that word. And yes, I burst out laughing when he said it. Okay, so he was actually talking about his height. But he did mention something about cold water, which made me laugh even harder. Oh, the puns…dirty, dirty mind. It was only made worse when he looked at me quizzically and asked, “Why is that funny?”)
In the end, all I can do is warn you to beware. Beware….the Pinto.