Now It’s Guitars, Cadillacs… And Instant Karma!

When I was in college, my roommate and I decided to drive over to his parents’ house for a few hours. On the way, the state was working on bridges and overpasses in an area. They funneled all traffic into a single-lane (instead of two) cattle chute each way and kept it that way for some distance, rather than deal with multiple merges.

We were in the middle of that, chugging along at the posted speed limit with my roommate driving, and a cream Cadillac whipped up behind us, tailgating ferociously. We got off that bridge, and the Caddy dove out through the barrier barrels, scattering them all over, flipped us off as he passed, and swerved back in, scattering more barrels.

Roommate: *Muttering* “Why is there never a cop—”

Then, he suddenly jerked up, looking in the mirror. We dropped out the end of the cattle chute, we pulled to the right, and four or five cops whipped past on our left.

A few miles down the road, there was the cream Caddie again, surrounded by cops and cop cars, with the driver out performing a field sobriety check.

Apparently, he failed, because when we came through on our way back several hours later, the cops were gone, but the Cadillac was still there.