It was 6:30 a.m. this very morning. I was walking calmly from my car to my office, sipping my overly creamed and sweetened coffee from my trusty travel mug, planning my workday in my head. It was a beautiful early summer day in the city. I stopped at the crosswalk directly across the street from the rear entrace to my hospital, and looked both ways, just like I’m teaching my kids to do. A car pulled to a stop to let me go. I smiled vaguely, I’m sure, and started crossing, still in my day-planner reverie.
Suddenly, the car revved loudly, as if to run me down: VROOM, VRROOOM.
Holy, what the? I jumped and stopped short, looking at the car now. It was a tiny black sportscar, with tinted windows; I could only make out the shadow of a man behind the wheel.
As I stood there, hesitating, the man started gunning the engine. GUNNING it, as if with all the malicious intent in the world.
I hopped quickly to and ran to the other side of the street, just as he PEELED away, tires screeching and howling, careening recklessly down this little hospital access road. I stood watching with disbelief, still trembling.
“Well, there’s a man with a small you-know-what,” I heard someone say. There’s a diner-style food truck that parks nearby, with savory sausage aromas and a steady crowd of hospital staff gathered around, all morning. No doubt there’s nothing on that truck that’s recommended for a heart-healthy lifestyle, but, it smells great. The guys collected around in the early mornings look to be maintenance workers, holding their coffees and egg and sausage sandwiches and generally joshing each other about this or that, or sports.
At this “small you-know-what” comment, all the guys joined in, creatively slamming the unseen, unnamed Sportscar Intimidator:
“Whoa, Nelly! Look out for pinhead.”
“What was that, a two-cyclinder engine?”
“Nah, one point five, at least. I bet it gets to fifty on the highway.”
“Guy’s a nut. A little nut.”
This was clearly for my benefit, as I was obviously shaken up. I smiled weakly; I welcomed the crass humor directed at this Stephen-King-Style experience as a show of solidarity extended from my hospital colleagues to me.
Still, my hands shook all the way to my office. What the hell was that?? Why on earth would a man in a car scare the crap out of a woman crossing the street, and right next to a hospital, of all places?
Why, indeed? The guy’s a probably a psychopath.
I was originally going to title this post “Inexplicable Behavior, Explained”, and offer some plausible explanations for this lovely experience, but actually, I can’t think of any beyond: The guy’s a psychopath.
Any other ideas?