Flipping Her Off

The motorist ahead of me stopped on a stretch of The Cape Arago Highway as it entered the Empire District of Coos Bay. Elmer and I were heading home at 8:30 in the morning after a glorious outing on a secret ocean beach. We didn’t see a single human being.

The cause of the stoppage: an obese, scantily-clad homeless woman of indeterminate age, gripping a piece of rolling luggage, standing in one lane of the highway, screaming FUCK YOU ASSHOLE! (among other profane expressions) at the driver ahead of me. The driver didn’t honk; they simply eased around the woman by using the oncoming lane free of traffic.

It was a close call. The motorist almost clipped her. She reached out to pound the roof of the vehicle but missed.

My car approached the woman and she started walking my direction, staring straight at me from ten yards away, screaming FUCK YOU SHITHEAD! (Among other profane expressions.)

Her face evinced obvious drug abuse and mental derangement.

I could not ease around her the way the other motorist had because vehicles were approaching from the oncoming lane. At the last second before she would be pounding my front hood, I ripped the steering wheel to the right, locked eyes with the woman, raised my middle finger to her, and yelled FUCK YOU! so loud that Elmer bounded up and hit his head on a window. I barely missed a fire hydrant on the abrupt turn, and found a side street for safety and sanity.

I had never flipped off a homeless person menacing me (on foot or rising a bicycle or skateboard) while I was driving (something that happened with regularity in Portland and occasionally in Coos Bay).

Back home, I sat down in a chair on the back patio, sipped a bloody mary, and considered my outburst.