Kilts, Phones and Cops, oh my!

Off Helen and I went on Sunday to the Highland Festival and Games in Alma meeshagn. AAA had it at a 5 hour drive but we got up there in a mere 4.5 including a stop for breakfast. The object of the trip was to hunt down Great Scot in the vendors area and order my kilt for the wedding. Having arrived and paid $12 each for admittance we hurried past the bleachers (the map says “Football Stadium” but I’ve seen high school fields that dwarf it) and at the end of the midway we find the Great Scot tent.

The quality of the display, the girth of the lady working the booth and her unkempt shabby dress could not have been more repulsive for Helen than a naked street urchin, oozing puss from multiple open sore while singing a Britney Spears song badly off-tune. We had driven 300 miles to reach Great Scot and suddenly were back at the drawing board.

We then went through all others and settled on The British Store. They had a nice display, quality goods, a professional demeanor and a large array of Scottish goods for sale. I do not know why they are called The British Store, but regardless they have a chunk of our money and will be furnishing me with me kilt.

While in Alma, taking a moment to watch the Kaber Toss, at which I realize Scotland’s contribution to the world of sport is Golf and throwing heavy things, I suddenly remember I had not made final arrangements for a meeting of friends that night at the St. James. Within minutes of pulling my cell phone from my pocket I had things in order, even though I was in a field 300 miles from home. That got me thinking that the cell phone isn’t all bad. I constantly hear it being derided for how it encroaches in on our lives making then ever more fast paced and complicated. True, but at the same time they afford us an ability to slack off on logistics that those of an earlier age could never entertain. I dare say even the Count of Monte Cristo could not, 300 miles from Paris, contact multiple invitees for a gathering to be planed that evening.

So it was with receipt in hand and plans laid we headed back to Columbus. It was while heading east on I-96 that things became interesting. I was putting along at 80mph in the slow lane when I noticed a new Ford F250 roaring up behind me. Instead of slowing he simply crossed into the fast lane to pass. The problem was that the lane was fully occupied by a line of cars passing a semi further up and he was pulling a trailer. I see three cars dive into the median to avoid the collision. I am now forced to choose if he can got all the way into the passing land before he reaches the back of the Mini. Mini vs. F250 pulling trailer? I dive to the right crossing the rumble strips. He then dives to the right to take advantage of my weakness. This pushes me partly off the burm.

It is at this moment that Helen awakes, to find me driving her car off the road at 80mph. The mad driver rushes past. I get back onto the road and watch him push more cars out of the way as he reached the bottle necking semi. Helen said, “Oh my God.” While I went back to the trusty cell phone.

“911, what is your emergency?”. I give all the details I can to the operator. She asks if I got the license but within seconds of getting past the semi the mad driver was disappearing. I informed the operator that based upon my speed, “which isn’t exactly slow” he had to be pushing 100. She gets some info from me and thanks me for the call, I return the thank you and go back to driving.

23 miles later I come around a bend to find the mad driver detained by a fleet of meeshigans finest. I can see that the driver is out of the car and looking at the combination of his wild gestures and the defensive posture of the encircling officers that the offending driver is doing a good job of explaining why he should in fact be arrested.

A few toots of the horn and a shout for joy as I move on past and for the rest of the trip I annoy Helen by threatening those guilty of any slight road misstep with jail time.