Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Why, why, why?

Not 10-minutes ago, I got into a confrontation with a delivery van driver. I had to take something down to the offices of the Directors' Guild and quickly found a parking spot (a notoriously rare occurrence) soon after driving onto the street. I flipped on my signal to show my intention to back up, but the truck behind me gets thisclose to my bumper. So I rolled down my window and swung my hand back to gesture to the driver to "move back!" But he didn't budge. In fact, he shouted back that he was behind me. No shit, dickhead!

So I drove to the end of the street to do a 3-point turn. The trucker sticks his head out of his window and called me "the worst driver in Toronto!" I stared him down and in response, explained that "I had signalled to park, but you drove up behind me, so you can go fuck yourself!"

A few pedestrians stopped to look, while the meter maid from way out back surveyed the scene. The trucker drove away speechless, while I savoured my victory.

Why is it that some people have the courage to talk smack once they see that I'm a tiny Asian girl and can't beat them up? Do they assume I'd just take the abuse and serve them spring rolls?

*Note: Paul says I drop the prim-n'-proper-cashmere-cardigan act whenever I'm agitated or exuberant. In either case, I pull out my inner chola. Hold the eyebrows.

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