It's amazing how easy it is to lose perspective on life.

Jessie and I were driving to a furniture store located in the middle of nowhere to check out sofas, beds and such for my new place. About a thousand feet or so before the turn, I noticed that a large gravel truck was bearing down on me pretty hard.

I commented that I really needed to get the truck off my ass before I turned. I tapped the breaks. I used my turn signal. I thought I let him know my intentions. But as it came time for me to actually turn, he was quite oblivious to our car. When I slowed and stopped to wait for oncoming traffic on the two-lane road to pass, he never slowed down. He went to the shoulder of the road, just missing our car and never looking back.

I'm a horn honker by nature. I consider it an art form to appropriately convey an important message to another motorist using only the horn. Rarely to I yell. Even more rare is the flying of the bird. This is because the horn is my tool... And I let the son of a bitch have it. I used the long and hard "you damn near hit me" honk. His break lights never lit up. He obviously didn't get the message. I decided to seek further justice.

I put my foot on the gas and gave a little pursuit. No, I wasn't trying to catch him to kill him or anything. I didn't want to force his truck off the road into some deep ravine. This wasn't the movies, after all. I did plan to get his license plate number and notify the proper authorities. The things was, he was hard to catch. I didn't even begin to gain ground on him until the speedometer reached 93 or so. Of course, when I did catch up to him... he didn't have any plates. My attempt to notify the fuzz failed because the area we were in was so rural that 911 doesn't exist. I gave up, turned the car around and went to look at furniture.