I Screwed Up. I Drove On Dahlia Street

At about 3:15 p.m. today (Thursday), I was about to reward myself for cutting my son’s grass and my grass (so my place looks nice in the next series of Facebook image posting by everyone’s favorite martyr) by breaking out the convertible and using it to go get a frozen drink at Burger King.

But I screwed up, committed the unpardonable sin of driving on Dahlia Street. Ironically, there came Charlie Brown in the opposite direction, driving the truck that was uninspected as of Monday this week. Charlie acknowledged me with a one-finger salute, but while holding his hand arm beneath the window opening, in a manner one might use if they were trying to shield a passenger from seeing the act.

I replied in kind and continued. But Charlie didn’t stop at his house and ventured onward. Thinking Charlie might be on another photo-taking session, I turned around and followed. Sure enough, he turned into the alley behind my home, slowed near my garage but kept going. He did stop several houses up the alley and I stopped about four car lengths behind out of necessity. It is too narrow to pass — at least to pass safely.

This must have enraged Charlie Brown, because he threw his truck into reverse and backed up at a high rate of speed. I sat there and braced for impact, feeling sad that my Mustang might have to pay the price for my indiscretion, that being driving on a public street Charlie apparently has claimed for his own, much like a paper alley.

But Charlie, showing reason has not totally escaped him, stopped before crunching my car. He drove to the end of the alley and turned right, but stopped again on Queen, short of his street. I came to the end of the alley, stopped, waved and went on my way in the other direction.

Along the way, I’d gotten a call on my cell phone, so I was relaying play-by-play should it prove helpful somewhere down the line.

I then continued to Burger King and ordered a frozen cherry drink. Not my day, I guess. I was told cherry was “on defrost,” but I could have a Coke. I ordered the Coke, paid the guy his $1.06; even made sure the change had not dropped from his hand since I had heard a clink. No, he had the six cents just fine.

Next, I continued on my planned drive, out to Fender Lane, then to Somerset Pike, Goucher Street and back home.

Now, I sit before the computer getting on the record in the anticipation that Charlie Brown will rush to his social media outlet to pillory me for violating his street.

Oh, and by the way, Charlie, good to hear you apologized to the postal people.