Comedy Corner: A visit to Mount Hermon Road Speedway

I live in Felton and recently accepted a temp job at a company in Scotts Valley. Driving to Scotts Valley around 7:30 a.m. is rather new for me, and until I have had my first cup of coffee, I tend to be completely oblivious to my surroundings — except for a morning several weeks ago.
I was sitting in my car on Graham Hill Road waiting for the light to turn green so that I could turn right onto Mount Hermon Road to begin my commute. Being in my morning stupor and thinking only about having my first cup of coffee, I nonetheless became acutely aware of the sound of gunning engines around me. As I returned to consciousness, I found I was surrounded by cars waiting at the stoplight turning onto Mount Hermon Speedway — er, Road. It was as if everyone were waiting for the starting gun to fire.
The experience was epic.
I looked to my right and I saw a soccer mom in a minivan revving her engine. I looked ahead of me and saw a businessman in a BMW hitting his gas and brakes at the same time. Just behind me, I saw a redneck in his Tundra sucking on a cig. In my rearview mirror, I saw a slacker hunched over the steering wheel of his sports car drooling with the anticipation for the light to turn green. Oh, wait, that was me. Wrong mirror.
The light turned green, and we were off!
We each began jockeying for position around the turn and got into a single-file line.
“Damn, that redneck in the Tundra just went around me!”
As we rounded the Round Table Pizza curve and zipped up the incline and up toward the straightaway, I could see we were all trying to go around each other to be the first to hit the single lane again before the bridge.
“Ooh, there goes the soccer mom! Who knew those new minivans have power!”
Uh-oh. The one-lane pullover spot was coming up before me, and the BMW was not letting me pull over. So I hit the brakes and let him pass. I am a big chicken and did not want to end up sailing over the hillside, ending up on someone’s rooftop for breakfast. It has happened!
As I let him go by, I down-shifted and pulled in behind him over the bridge, entering the two lanes on the upper incline. I quickly moved over to the right-hand lane and let the traffic pass me by. The minivan, Tundra and Beemer were clearly out of sight by now, so I relaxed again and slowed down.
“Gee, I do not know what got into me for a second.”
As I cruised past the quarry, I saw a black Mercedes 350SL slowly but steadily coming up on my left side. I was confidently driving in the right-hand lane, thinking no one was going to pass me, because we were approaching the Do Not Pass sign — but there she came.
“She’s not going to make it, not going to make it. OMG, she is going to hit the sign!”
So I hit the brakes as she maneuvered around the sign — and passed me in the truck-crossing lane!
I pressed my horn on full throttle as she went on by, and when I looked up, all I saw was the infamous middle finger — the angry birdie. What the? The nerve of her passing me in the truck lane!
Then, as I was eating her dust, I saw her sail on through the first two lights in Scotts Valley and fade into the morning fog.
I arrived at my favorite coffee house defeated and humbled. I took little comfort in my first cup of coffee, but slowly, the caffeine hit me and I began to feel calm with the world again, so I headed off to work.
I pulled into the rear parking lot and parked in the back lot. As I did so, I saw in the front parking lot, in the reserved spaces, my new director getting out of a black Mercedes 350SL. Unemployment anyone?
Michael Larson is a 14-year resident of Felton and an aspiring comedy writer. He lives with his dog, Blue, and is working to complete his Bachelor of Arts at Bethany University in addiction studies. Contact him at mi***************@ya***.com.