Thursday, August 9, 2007
That was the day Wilbur T. Frupenfartz thanked his lucky stars that he chose "truth" at the geriatric slumber party
Traffic was a real bitch this morning. Think 5mph. Yup. And for once I actually had somewhere to be that didn't involve a couch and my ass.
It wasn't congested for the reason you think. The Hot Wheels style reconfiguration of our Twin Cities freeways due to the bridge collapsing was not the culprit here.
It was, in fact, an elderly gentleman of questionable mental clarity wearing a purple hunting hat while riding a shiny red Hoveround. No lie. It had one of those orange safety flags attached to the seat.
At least he took a little precaution, I guess. Kind of like wearing a helmet when you jump out a plane without a parachute, but hey- I guess he's just a risk-taker like that.
He had somehow managed to make it onto I-35E with it (which, let me tell you- isn't always easy in a car, never mind a shiny red motorized wheelchair) and was cruising at "top speed", possibly to get to Denny's in Maplewood for the Grand Slam breakfast- or, possibly not. He wasn't on the shoulder either- he was in the right lane- I can only assume he thought he was driving his 1965 Chevy- cruising for tail and looking for a drag race.
Nonetheless, there were 3 state patrol cars (one in front, two following) giving crazy grandpa a mighty fine police escort. It took FIFTEEN MINUTES to go 1/2 mile. Grandpa probably thought it was a parade in his honor for kicking Mildred's ass at "bingo for meds" on Sunday.
Once off the freeway (this happened to be the exit I was taking), I passed the guy, now parked on the side of the road and getting a seriously stern talking-to from the Popo.
He had the biggest grin on his face.
Like he had taken a dare and kicked the shit out of it.
Good for you, crazy Hoveround dude.
Good for you.