Let Me Get This Straight…

(My mother is driving us to pick up my grandmother from a doctor’s appointment, then we we’re all going out for the afternoon. There’s a four-way stop just before the parking lot. We’re stopped and going straight, and the guy across from us is turning left. We start to go forward, and so does he. Despite being lead-footed, he hits the brakes, and so does Mom, and the bumpers don’t-quite-bang into each other. She hasn’t even gotten the car in park yet when the other driver is out of his car, around the back, and up to her window.)

Male Driver: “YOU DIDN’T SIGNAL THAT YOU WERE GOING STRAIGHT!”

Mom: “…I’m sorry, what?”

Male Driver: “YOU DIDN’T SIGNAL, THAT YOU, WERE GOING, STRAIGHT!”

Me: *speechless and staring at him like a second head just sprang out*

Mom: “Please show me which way I’m supposed to flick the lever to make THAT happen!”

(By this point, the woman who was behind us is now up to the window as well.)

Female Driver: “DON’T YOU DARE LET HIM TELL YOU THAT WAS YOUR FAULT; I SAW IT ALL!”

(The now three-way argument goes back and forth for about five minutes, all while Grandma is standing outside the doctor’s office, watching from a distance because she can’t walk very well. Finally, because there is no visible damage, the other guy “lets us go” and takes off, and we finally pull into the parking lot.)

Grandma: “What the f*** was all that about!?”

(And that’s where I learned where my mother got her colorful vocabulary. Twenty years later, I still haven’t figured out how to signal that I am going straight, either…)