The Mets and Getting People Back

This guy from the Lottery corporation came in tonight to drop off a "bonus check". Apparently, we sold over our expected limit and qualified for a drawing and won. Who knows. What-fucking-ever. He notices that I'm wearing my Mets hat. I don't wear my Mets hat to work because I like to show off team pride, though. I wear my Mets hat to work because I'm too fucking lazy to comb my hair for work, nor do I wish to waste any amount of hair gel crap just to look presentable. It just so happens, though, that this guy is a Yankees fan. So he has to justify to me why the Yankees are better than the Mets no matter what, even though I've just explained why I'm wearing the hat. (Did the Mets win tonight, by the way? Oh, yes, wow, by quite a bit. Nice. Go Rick Reed.) Anyway, he says something about how the Yankees win because they spend a lot of money. "Now maybe it's just me," he says, "but either the Mets are crazy or cheap. I think they just don't want to spend money." Now maybe it's just me, but that doesn't really sound like a Yankee fan. That sounds like someone like me, bitching that George Steinbrenner has deep pockets and buys World Series rings for his players. I may not be considered a Yankee fan, but at least even I can acknowledge that Joe Torre is an excellent manager and that Mel Stottlemyre, Lee Mazzilli, and Willie Randolph are excellent coaches; and that Derek Jeter does not walk out onto the field, blow kisses and win games. They win because they're a good fucking team, well organized, and serious about the game. I'm not an argumentative guy, though, so I simply nodded and wished the guy a good day. Every time the guy comes in, however, Gene always wishes he'd punched him in the face. Oh well.

So I leave work tonight and I guess the guy a quarter of a mile earlier down the road thought I cut him off or something. He speeds up to ride my bumper and follows me, incessantly flashing his high beams until the first stop light after the Hess station. Dude swerves up on the left and it turns out he's driving an Acura. A silver one. In fact, were I the kind of person to remember every intricate detail of some asshole's car, I'd say it was the guy who gave Pappy a hard time that one night over Spring Break. So the passenger window rolls down and... gasp... a very familiar face followed by an arm and a hand with the middle finger extended appears - it indeed is the very same person who gave Pappy the trouble, and now his girlfriend is giving me the finger for absolutely no reason. So, I reverse a foot back to get the kid's plate and call the police in the town I'm in, give them the plate number and tell them exactly what had transpired before that point, where we're headed and etc. I also make sure to let the dispatcher know that I know Mike [last name], and work for his brother-in-law. "Okay, there's an officer nearby on Hemingway, we'll have him wait there." Ha ha.

Bam, right as I hang up, the light turns green. The kid, who had been taking the time to slip his hand with extended middle finger around his girlfriend's face, was a bit surprised as a pulled a few cars ahead of him. The pussy couldn't keep up with me and I was hardly trying. Under the bridge, past a road, suddenly, the light up ahead at Hemingway avenue is turning yellow! Knowing my cue, I begin to brake. Whizz, the kid speeds by, the girl giving the finger and the kid, who still wouldn't go above 80 miles per hour, zooms through the red light...

... Right by the officer pulling to a stop at the light to the right of the intersection. Fwip, on come his lights and he tears a strip onto route 1. Pulls the kid over. A while later, my light turns green and I cruise by at a steady 40 miles per hour and smile a nice, shit-eating grin at the kid. Ahh... revenge. I beat him AND he got pulled over. Fucker. That's what he gets for fucking with Pappy. =)