And now... the rest of the story

Today started off much the same as any other. After returning home this morning fresh from my evening of wild and abandoned carnal pursuits (ok ok... watched some tv, ate a bagel, 'did it', it's my life, don't judge me, I like it) I stayed at home for far too long, checking the sports stories on the BBC (The Mindless Poet is British) before suddenly realizing that I was probably going to be late for work. Jumping into the passenger side door of the fabled truck, I hightailed it up the highway towards cell block 6, affectionately known to me and to others, as 'work'.

I join the highway shortly after leaving my house, allowing me the luxury of basically sleeping at the wheel until I make it to my exit. From there, it's about a three mile ride to the office, past a school, a historical site of interest, and an airbase.

As I came off the off ramp (well what else would you do with it, I hear you say... SHUT UP! I say, it's my story, leave me alone!) I noticed, in my rear view mirror, a green Saab. Matthew at the wheel.

He was a little too close for comfort, driving a little too aggressively for my liking. I decided to do what any sane and sensible person would do... and fuck with him.

I have Matthew's cell phone number. Locating mine, I composed a short text message.
"Wanker" said I.
"Patsy", came the speedy response.
"Eat My Truck"
"no thanks, i'm not into that"
"Liar! you pick up pickups"
"You're all about the dump trucks"

At this point, ladies and gentlemen... I responded with the words that every person faced with a text like that would respond with. I know that it was childish... but I had no choice. It's a code, it's a rule, it had to be said.

"Your mom" I said. Chuckling to myself. He had fed me the ball, and I'd scored what should have been the winning goal. Satisfied that I'd won, I sent one last text to rub his pretty little nose into the mess that he'd left. Perhaps I should have left it at that, but we were now close to work and could continue this assault when out of our cars. Better to finish him off, once and for all.
"Suck on my tail pipe" - I said. Putting the phone down I realized that there were a couple of cars in front of me playing the 'you first, no you first! ok me? oh sorry! I thought you meant me! I'll go. No no! ok we'll both sit here then' game. I brought the truck to a halt.

Looking into my rear mirror, I saw Matthew and his Saab appear to pick up speed. I then heard a screech of brakes, the Saab start to slide, and a look of horror adorned his pretty little face. At the very moment that my cell phone beeped to signal one last message, there came an almighty BANG!

The truck and I were pushed into the middle of the road. Getting out of the passenger side door (which a passing colleague saw and thought I might have been delirious), I inspected the back of the truck (no damage whatsoever) and went to check on Matthew.
"Are you ok?" I asked.
"I am but my car isn't" came his selfish, but actually probably understandable response.

I eventually went to the hospital and was diagnosed with a mild concussion and signed off work for a couple of days. Needless to say however, I'll be back at work tomorrow to make the most of this moment, and to remind Matthew constantly about the dangers of driving and texting.

Which reminds me... that last text message? "I think I'll just look instead".

It couldn't be a better story if I had made it up. All of the above, is exactly how it happened.