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Rock vs. Windshield.

By Chris | July 31, 2007

On Friday morning I was driving to work, and I had pulled onto 17A in front of a speeding van full of undocumented workers.  They were far enough back when I pulled out onto the road, but within seconds it was clear they were not doing the customary 55 in a 45 that everyone else does on that stretch.  They rode my ass for a few seconds, and then jerked into the left lane and rode that vehicle’s ass.  Well, when we got up closer to Carnes Crossroads, the vehicle in front of them headed left, and they cut me off, and in the process slung a rock onto my windshield from the road.  It left a big fat chip up by the glare strip just to the left of the mirror.  It was just a chip, but was a crack by lunch time (after the doors slammed shut).  Ugh.  I got it replaced today and it’s all shiny and nice.  Not as pitted as the other one, and to top it off, the inside of the old one was nassy, I just never got around to cleaning it…so this one is nice and clean.  I just have to wait for it to cure and then I am going to wash the car, as it’s pretty gross after all the rain we’ve been having.

That’s the only real news as of late.  We had a dispatcher put in two weeks notice, got a job at SPAWAR, and another is going back to be a police officer.  I started working on another project - a training management database - for the training sergeant and the Lt over my section.  It’s a little more complicated, but it’s a nice challenge.  They’re willing to pay me OT to come in on days off, etc so that’s an added bonus.  Other than that…nothing new.

Topics: General, TrailBlazer, Work |

One Response to “Rock vs. Windshield.”

  1. chucker Says:
    August 1st, 2007 at 1916

    This has nothing to do with cracked windshields or undocumented workers but I saw this and thought of you and your comments on calls to 911. Enjoy:

    “Send an ambulance; I’m glistening profusely . . . bosom heaving . . . luscious, ripe orbs threatening to burst the seams of my black lace bodice . . . . pulse galloping apace like a knight’s sleek steed . . . exquisite pain radiating down my graceful, alabaster arm, shooting upward to the finely chiseled jaw . . . I shall swoon—oh, my address?” the romance writer gasped into the phone before collapsing.

    Linda A. Fields
    Framingham, MA

    Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest 2007 Results

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