It was a normal day, a day much like any other day of the week.
Alarm clock ripped through the silence at 6 a.m., and I hit snooze. That nine-minute pause allowed time to coordinate my morning activities: I’m going to get up, get dressed, go for a walk, and collapse onto the floor out of complete and utter exhaustion. After a brief recovery, I’ll pause for the breakfast of champions. Then, I’ll get dressed – contrary to the nightmare of showing up naked – and go to work.
Nine-minute warning sounds. Let’s do this.
Two hours and 30 minutes later, I’m driving to work. Radio on. Scanning for music. Can I request less talk and more music? Please and thank you! I’ve found being polite helps, even when the radio personality can’t hear you.
Check my speed, set cruise control and keep an eye on the motorists around me. A glimpse into the center rearview mirror and … seconds later I’m sitting on the side of the road and leaping from my car.
What is the most terrifying thing you can imagine seeing in your car’s interior rearview mirror while driving? That was the question I asked of co-workers when I finally succeeded in making it to work that morning.
One said, “The blue lights of a state trooper.”
“A meat cleaver coming at you from the backseat,” said another.
Both those answers are justifiably terrifying in their own right. One is going to cost you time and money, while the other will undoubtable mess up your hair and makeup.
Neither of those scenarios are what caused me to feverishly slam on my breaks, swerve to the side of the street and bolt like a screaming banshee leaving the door open.
As I stood there solemnly looking at my car, I’m calculating the distance to work and how long it would take me to just walk. Fear rushed over me with the realization that I had to do it. I had to gather my nerve and venture back to the vehicle.
Time to face my fear. Deep breathe in. Tentative step forward. Let it out. Anxiety gripping. Watchful eyes scanning the interior of the vehicle. Deeper breathe in, and let it out slower. Half steps drawing me closer and making my way around. I ease open up all the doors. Nothing. Peeking in and scanning the interior. Where is it? No movement, except for the passing vehicles.
I closed all the doors, eased back into the driver’s seat and prepared for the heart attack I knew was coming as I pulled back into a lane.
No radio entertainment. The quiet, relaxation of my morning was shattered. Eyes darting around the front interior of the car. Still looking, but not seeing anything. The tension was unbearable. Hand on the rearview mirror and using it to scan the back seat and that’s when I see it…. The hornet that was in my car is now in my hair.
Standard reporter Lisa Hobbs can be reached at 473-2191.