Ashley and I were on our way to A.C. Moore so she could shop for yarn. She’s taken up crocheting recently, and discovered she has a natural aptitude for it. She made me a scarf that looks like it could’ve come right off the boat from the sweat shop — it’s that good. Like, good enough to sell at Wal-Mart, Target, all your fine retailers. And now she’s setting her sights on crocheting an afghan, which means lots more yarn, hence off we went to A.C. Moore.
A minute or two out of Williamsport is the interchange where Greencastle Pike meets Interstate 70. It’s right near the Pilot Travel Center where I worked for five years, and where my boss Joe once caught up to a would-be shoplifter after a thrilling foot chase. It’s a bad area. Vehicles like to crash into one another there, especially since the Pilot opened up. There have been three fatal accidents since 2000 when Pilot opened its doors. The victims of the first two have been completely forgotten by all but their loved ones; the victim of the third one was the son of a local politician and now has a portion of the far intersection of Greencastle Pike and the truck stop parking lot named after him.
But nevermind that for now. Ashley and I were approaching the I-70 underpass when a line of three cars was coming off the interstate and turning into our lane. There was one vehicle in front of us, a white SUV — a Ford Explorer, I think. The first of the three cars coming off 70 has plenty of time, turns left onto the Pike, no problem. The second of the three, knowing he had to rush it a little bit, didn’t bother slowing down at the intersection, just kept right on going, turned left and made it, still with plenty of time. No problem so far.
Now came the third car off the interstate, a white Monte Carlo. He barely had time to make it before we reached him, but figured he might as well go for it and pulled out behind the car in front of him, likewise not slowing down or stopping before turning. There was no accident, but he cut off the guy in front of us in the Explorer, who slammed on his brakes to avoid catastrophe.
That’s when it happened, this beautiful event to which the title of this article alludes. The white Monte Carlo moved over into the right lane, and the Explorer sped past him. As it passed the Monte Carlo that moments ago had cut him off, the passenger of the Explorer gave the driver of the Monte Carlo the finger. And not just from inside the vehicle, either. I’m talking window down, arm out, full extension, in your face middle finger. It was sublime.
These . . . these are the moments you remember.