Blonde Bimbo

In the shopping center where I work, by the drive-thru convenience store that used to be a photo development drop-off, right behind the Del Taco, there’s a driveway that’s “secret,” tucked away where California meets Streeter. The smart truckers bring their Albertson’s shipments through that way. The alternative is the other side of the parking lot, which is much busier, and believe me, shoppers have little patience for bigrigs trying to make their shipments. Coming out of this “secret” driveway often makes for an easy route west into the ’burbs (or west-ish—Riverside is mostly sideways). That’s only if traffic is light.

Now, I’m trying to get out this way, next to the Del Taco, and I’m right behind a lifted truck, like an F-150 or a Chevy 1500, or something, but raised up in precisely the manner a SoCal truck owner would not need. (Seriously, how often do they offroad in a landscape mostly divided by freeways?) This damn truck in front of me is going half a mile an hour and I’m beginning to wonder what gives. You know, there’s not a lot of room to maneuver around the thing, it being so big, so what the hell?

Eventually, the truck stops altogether, and now I’m getting mad. I have an order to take. If it’s late, I might not get tipped. I’m about ready to say, “Fuck it,” and pull my compact around when something strange happens: the bro-mobile’s backup lights go on.

“Oh shit!”

I shift into reverse as fast as I can, put my foot to the floor, honk as obnoxiously as possible.

The truck stops dead, thank God, and after a good five seconds, this blonde female head pops out the driver side window yelling, “Sorry!”

My guess? She was only using the rearview mirror instead of, you know, taking the effort to turn her head around and actually check to see of a small Honda might be behind. It’s probably not even her truck. Her boyfriend’s, perhaps. She’s not used to driving in one.

I’m glad she has the sense to apologize, but I really do is look at her. This is what people are talking about when they say Southern Californian’s can’t drive.