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Oh boy! If a couch could talk, the stories from the couch above could write a book. The beloved 40-year-old sofa has been audience to many an antic since its first proud owner. The circle is complete.  

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After enjoying our seaside dinner, we are eager to be at home with our furry charges.

The six o’clock feeding time will not go unnoticed by our pack of silken beasts! The food schedule is serious business. Any deviation from their feeding routine is a strike against us. To describe the expressions of both dismay mixed with delight on each of their faces is too complex for words. If you are lucky enough enjoy life with a canine friend, you know the look.

It is dusky as we merge with the on-ramp for I-16 that will lead us back to our cozy enclave and anxious pack mates. We are cruising along at the legal speed and only use the passing lane as needed to bypass a slower traveler, usually a big rig style truck.

With my appetite sated and the lulling sounds of the road in my ears, I slowly drift off to dreamland. Almost to my next dream, I jolt awake.

Andy is letting out a string of words in reference to another driver’s actions. I feel no need to repeat those words here just use your imagination.

Andy drives like an old man; no insult implied. I love his safety is no accident mind-set about all aspects of life.

While Andy is carefully passing a large freight liner fresh from the Port of Savannah, a vehicle appears to have magically affixed itself to our rear bumper. The car seems in a great hurry to destinations unknown. We cannot seem to get back over into the right lane quickly enough to please the little red box-shaped car.

The driver is frantic with the flashing of the bright lights almost blinding Andy in our mirrors. I try to discern why this guy is driving so erratically. He is most certainly en route to the hospital for a loved one is my best guess.

Andy merges into the right-lane on interstate 16 once past the cargo carrying truck. We realize the car is one of those Smart cars. You know, the eco-friendly, mega tiny and great on gas mileage kind of contraptions?

As the red cars pulls alongside us in the next lane, I sneak a look over at the driver. The expression on this big guys face is not the typical peaceful kind of look that I have assigned to people driving such eco-friendly automobiles.

I wonder if our gas-guzzling V-8 truck has sent him over the top? Or is he simply driving fast so the dashboard hula girl will wiggle faster? Whatever the reason, my concern about the safety of fellow travelers is reason enough to alert local authorities of Mr. Mad’s aggressive driving.

After Mr. Mad has just passed us, he whips his tiny tuna can car in front of us and kills his lights! My hospital theory about his speeding quickly dissipates. I am thinking of our well-being now several miles into this unfolding mystery of Mr. Mad. He is making hand gestures universally understood to imply ill intent. You know what I mean.

We are in shock. What the heck is Mr. Mad attempting to prove by driving so irresponsibly? Is he really Mr. Sad and has a death wish? We are discussing how to best disengage our interaction with the scary man in the little red car.

Instinctively, Andy decreases our speed in hopes of Mr. Mad taking his anger on up the highway. We realize that the irate man is not getting the hint as he slows down as well and turns back on his vehicles lights.  The above picture is me trying to get a photo of the driver.

My camera is always close at hand. I grab it out of my tote. Focusing in on the license plate number of Mr. Mad’s car, I snap several clear photos. I also try to get a picture of his face with no luck.

For the third time in my life, I dial 911.

I explain to the 911 operator that my husband and I are suspicious of the driver in the red car. I describe how aggressive Mr. Mad is driving in detail. She takes down the plate numbers and county name from my photos to relay to law enforcement. She asks for our approximate place on the interstate for police dispatch. We are lucky to be passing a mile marker on an otherwise desolate stretch of highway for several more miles until the next exit.

As I am wrapping up my conversation with the 911 operator, our trucks gas light indicates the need for refueling. For the first time, I am happy to see that gas pump-shaped illumination appear. I see a green sign up ahead for the next filling station.

We can see the red car ahead playing the same crazed driving game with another truck. As we exit to refuel, I send positive energy to the poor people in the truck ahead of us. I hope no one is hurt by Mr. Mad in his tiny red death box. The little country store is a welcomed sight. Especially for my bladder, I have ‘you almost scared the piss out of me’ peeing to take care of ASAP!

With the gas tank full and our bladders empty, we are heading back up I-16 not wanting to encounter the livid driver in the red Smart car. It is already almost 10PM. We are

ready to be home with our dogs.

It is clear that the call to 911 is not ignored by those in charge of  the highway patrol.

We begin to spot various forms of law enforcement vehicles stationed along the interstate. We feel certain Mr. Mad, in his Smart car, motivate other worried interstate drivers to call and echo our concerns for  his lack of highway safety.

I hope he arrived safely to his destination without hurting anything but his gas mileage. I went to sleep wondering if he was just trying to scare himself by trying to scare other people or if he was on drugs.

Lesson: Driving a Smart car does not qualify said driver an intelligent person.