Taking a mulligan on WMBL (Part II)

About 24 hours after I passed my first WMBL test, I failed my second.

Unlike the day before, my morning walk with Chui was uneventful and I found myself driving through the largely deserted streets of Arlington Center. As I passed the temple of tasty treats known as the Gail Ann Donut Shop, an Irish electrician's box truck pulled away from the left hand curb up the road.

No problem I think to myself. Medford Street's a one way, I've got my headlights on and I'm not in his blind spot...

If my Irish friend (who shall remain nameless) had a right hand turn signal, he was doing his best to preserve the bulb's life expectancy. I was doing about 30 as I traveled in the right hand lane and approached the truck which was lumbering up to speed.

I was right next to him and noticed the gap between our vehicles was rapidly disappearing. Our doors were right next to each other. I know he didn't check his mirror as he left the curb, if he had he would have seen my headlights on the move. I know he didn't actually turn his head and look right (for either a direct view or using his mirror) because I was looking at him as he closed in on me. If he had used his directional (yeah, I know nobody does...), I would have known he was coming and hit my horn for a second to say good morning.

I hit the gas to get out of his way and just cleared his fender. At this point I know my fellow motorist is aware of my presence because he leans on his horn like my carefully coiffed friend from the day before.

I've created my share of close calls, and I've had one at-fault accident in 30+ years of combat certified Baystate driving. I know stuff happens, but given the position of the vehicles when he gained consciousness the only way for this to be my fault was if the crew of the Enterprise had beamed my Jeep onto the street next to him. As he leans on his horn, WMBL moves directly into the fail category.

At the next light, I rolled down my window. In the spirit of holiday giving I shared my thoughts on looking at the lane you would like to move into and using a turn signal. With a degree of sarcasm that only a brogue can produce, he calmly dismissed my tirade with "oh I'm soooooooo sorry, buh-bye."

That was a useful exchange. One of those situations that leaves me wondering if I was acting like a bigger jerk than the jerk. It didn't seem to faze my new friend at all. Since he drives this way with his (or his employer's) name emblazoned on the truck, it was pretty unlikely to change his driving habits. It didn't seem to raise his blood pressure, but mine was certainly elevated.

I'm pretty sure this was a complete "whatever" non-event for the electrician, forgotten before he turned off of Route 60. At least I get to take away some food for thought (the only kind of food that won't add to the holiday pounds I've tacked on.)

So I'm going to give myself a mulligan, and go back to the drawing board to try developing better perspective and more patience overall. Like my running, the blueprint includes consistent effort, incremental gains, and occasional failure. At 48 years old, I can only say "better late than never".

Given my previous attempts, there should be some rich fodder for blog entries. But you have to dream it before you can do it, and this is a good time for renewed dreams however unlikely they may seem.