We’re hauling ass down the road, blinkies and woo-woos. This is not unusual.
There are the regular Virginia players before us –
We avoid the JAMs – “Jesus! It’s A Medic”s, who jam on their brakes. They are expected.
We slip by the Tweaks – they’re the ones who see us in the rear-view mirror and immediately swing left/right/left until the other drivers back off to avoid getting hit, making a space; par for the drive;
We get the attention of the Blaupunks (rhymes with “wow” punks) – whose blaring Blaupunkt or analog stereos mask our sirens. Wouldn’t be a response without ’em.
There’s the Gold Star Gang, least represented of all. These are the folks who will: Use their turn signal; actually move into the lane they signalled for (left blinky, move to the left); move into the nearest out-of-the-way shoulder (the right-hand shoulder is not always the most appropriate, and this is actually taught in Driver’s Ed class); and slow down after completely vacating the lane we need. We love seeing these guys and they get a wave, a nod, and a smile as we flare by in lieu of a Gold Star.
And then – there’s really no other word for it – there’s the Dumbass.
This is the guy talking on the cell phone, or TEXTING, while driving.
This is the chap who, when he finally moves languidly into another lane, has the audacity to give you the Stink Eye because your siren is interrupting his Important Phone Call.
It’s just unusual for this fella to be in full uniform and driving a marked “Sherriff” vehicle.
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