I don’t know about you but I am under the impression that every little red car is a hot car with a hot driver in need of something to prove attached to the foot feed also known as the gas pedal. They usually come from behind, the no-man’s-land of the cautious driver. They may have been weaving in and out of traffic for a time much longer than their attention span. By the time you see them from the corner of your eye, they’ve managed to squeeze in to that area in front of you that you may have reserved as a safety margin. Trust me; they’ll be there, directly in front of your nose at the exact moment when that traffic light turns from green to yellow to red. You may be able to hear your brakes squeal, feel the steam rise from your ears and you probably bite your tongue trying to squelch a stream of vernacular expletives.

Cheer up, my friend, not all little red cars with lead footed drivers get away unscathed. For those of you who’d like to be witness to a different outcome, this story is for you.

Kipper, the collie sees the vet once every other month just to get his hair clipped and his undercoat removed. That was exactly what I was doing one day last week, taking Kipper to the vet. I know all about the police cars that hang around my neighborhood waiting for the opportunity to write a ticket, and so I drove slowly. Sure enough, on the corner of St. Charles and Linwood was that familiar car with that familiar cherry top. My driving was as close to perfect as I can manage. I passed that police car with a sigh of relief. I was about to speed up just a wee bit when I noticed the second police car. The whole thing looked a lot like a setup for catching someone who was breaking the law. I drove slowly and cautiously the rest of the way and delivered the dog at the Sunshine Animal Clinic just two blocks north of the junction of St. Charles and Linwood.

As I left the parking lot in front of the Sunshine Animal clinic and carefully edged out in to the traffic I heard the squealing of brakes. Wouldn’t you know, a little red car turned the corner from Sunshine on to St. Charles directly to the south of me? It looked to me like the driver performed that maneuver exactly on two wheels. Apparently the driver had no intention of letting me turn on to the street. I backed up once again in to the parking lot. The driver was doing every bit of the speed limit and then some. As he passed me I couldn’t help but notice that glee, that smile, that arrogance on his face. Yes, he certainly showed that old lady how to back up that antiquated car. He revved up the engine. Unfortunately he did not know what I knew. I started driving home exactly the way I came with a leisurely speed, not a mile over thirty. He was somewhere ahead of me. I could hear that engine.

A block and a half isn’t far to have to wait. Oh yes I heard the brakes squeal, and I saw the brake lights coming on on that little red car only half a block away now. I suppose I could have caught up with him. I could have told that nice police officer about that turn the driver had made on two of his four wheels. But I wasn’t going to do that. I turned before I came to the corner of St. Charles and Linwood. I headed west on Portland instead. I drove leisurely to Oakgrove and then turned back on Linwood. But my curiosity did get the best of me. I went as far as that corner of St. Charles and Linwood. Wouldn’t you know? There was that nice police officer standing next to the driver of that little red car. The driver was definitely not smiling. And the police man was definitely looking at papers and taking notes. I took my time as I passed the scene of my delight. And with my best elderly manner I smiled and I waved my hand and I said “Hi” as I passed. The policeman wasn’t certain if the wave was meant for him, but he waved back. I swear I could see the red color creeping up on that red neck of the driver right up to his ear lobes. I stopped and turned and headed home. I smiled all the way home. My students would have been able to interpret the wave of my hand for every nuance of the meaning of that gesture. I was still smiling that afternoon when I picked up my dog. I didn’t even mind paying the bill. When my vet wondered why I was so happy I just told her:

“It’s really been a wonderful day.”