While My Truck Is In Intensive Care, My Rental Car Is Behaving Badly

I don't know if this is common knowledge but we in Wisconsin don't like foreigners. Oh, we love other-country foreigners, we dislike sharing our state with certain other-state foreigners. When we see foreign license plates, we immediately get on the defense & want you to go home. Really though, only if those plates are from states bordering our beautiful homeland. We are protective of Wisconsin, yo.

When applying for a driver's license, we make you take an oath that you will be on guard at all times & not trust anyone driving a vehicle with plates from Illinois, Michigan, or Minnesota.

So yesterday I'm driving home from school in my little red rental car (that is wearing proof that it's licensed in another state) made for someone a foot shorter than me. Seriously, with the seat all the way back, my knee hits the steering wheel. I have bruises, people. They're not pretty. The whole time I'm driving I have the Tommy Boy song in my head but with my own twist on it, "...tall girl in a little car..."

See how my leg is becoming one with the damn steering wheel? Now imagine what happens when I actually have to move said leg to the left to brake. And why won't my Snapple stay standing in the cup holder? It's a typical sized bottle! Don't get me started on how much I hate this damn rental car! (See my purty pedicure? I want to put the pedicure lady in my pocket & bring her home. She's so cute & she makes me so happy & I walk slightly drunk-like after I've visited her.)

Oh, yeah, back to my driving home yesterday. In a past blog post I wrote about being in my truck (give me a second...tears to be wiped) & coming up on a section of road where the right lane merged with the left. And how the car next to me thought it would win the battle of the merge by staying on my right side until we hit the shoulder. That turned out well for me because I was in a big truck & he wasn't. Big trucks always win. sniffle

Yesterday I was coming up to the same section of road. There was a honey truck in front of me (if you've never heard that term I'll give you a hint: it's not honey they're hauling) & I desperately needed to get around him because:
1. I can't hold my breath for very long
2. I hate passing out while driving.

So I go around him. Only to discover that many other cars were in front of him & the lane merge was much too close for comfort. And I wasn't in my truck! O...M...G...I was like every other vehicle on the road. Not special! I'm not used to that. Bruiser (fitting name for a truck, don't ya think?) made sure everyone on the road knew I was special. Little rental car doesn't even have a name...that's how UNspecial it is.

So I step on the gas. Holy crap, did you know little cars don't complain when you step on the gas? Like, seriously. I flew past all the cars & was all, "Heck yeah!"

One car left to pass & the lane was thisclose to ending. So I had to cut off a car to squeeze between the front 2 cars. My first instinct was, "Oh, man, I feel so bad."

Oh, that cracked me up! Like I would feel bad! I totally just lied.

When I realized I just totally cut someone off & made them hit the brakes, you know what I did? I thanked God for those Illinois plates. Yes, friends, I thanked The Big Man for foreign plates.

Because I know what the car behind me was thinking & I'm not going to repeat it here because like my favorite line from Wizard of Oz (only the best movie EVER), "Being a Christian woman I can't say it!"

And as I would only expect from my fellow Wisconsinites, that car followed me for 15 miles totally riding my ass. During those 15 miles they alternated between flashing their brights in my rearview mirror & flipping me a lonely bird out their window. Which I must say is quite impressive; I'm sure they had to constantly switch their cigarette and Bud Light to the other hand, which sounds rather annoying. Makes me proud to be from the Dairy State, man!

I don't think the person saw the "Just Rented" (get it? get it? like "just married"!) signs on the back windows. Which are there because...hello...if people thought I was harboring an alien, they'd follow me home & egg my house. And by the way, this car never sits in my driveway. It's always nicely tucked away in the garage, for the same exact reason.

I think I'll take advantage of having this little IL car for the remainder of the time my truck is in Intensive Care. I need another an excuse to annoy other drivers.