People in glass houses.
It was one of those days on the highway. You know, the 30mph driver you’ve been stuck behind for twelve miles finally, FINALLY exits, and ten feet later you’re cut off by a 28mph driver who will stay in front of you until the day you die.
Suddenly a truck from somewhere behind me decided to do a Dallas pass, flying up the right-hand lane to whip around me and my annoying leader. I paid very little attention, aside from hoping he had seen the tumbleweed in front of me, and didn’t actually think it was me driving like I had nothing else to do for the rest of my life.
Pokey in front of me noticed the truck, and sprang back to life, matching the pickup mph for mph. White Pickup chilled, realizing that he was dealing with an idiot who would likely fall back asleep soon. He settled into the right-hand lane just ahead of me.
That’s when I saw them. Cantaloupes. Cantaloupes? Yeah, cantaloupes. An entire extended-length full-sized pickup truck bed full of cantaloupes. They were wild, unrestrained by anything as mundane and uptight as crates, or ropes, or tarps. They were a mound of rounds riding the highway in the back of a big rectangle, rolling down the road on four circles.
As I beheld this vitamin-filled bounty tearing across the asphalt in front of me, two words popped into my head, where they have remained firmly lodged ever since: Cantaloupe Chaos. Cantaloupe. Chaos. Chaos, featuring cantaloupes. Cantaloupe-caused chaos. Chaos. Cantaloupes. Cantaloupe Chaos.
Sure, Cantaloupe Chaos would probably suck, and cause a truly mind-boggling amount of damage to my beloved van, but still, think of what a fun conversation that would be to have with the nice Indian lady who answers the insurance company’s 800-number.
“I am sorry, madam. Did you say ‘cantaloupe’?
“Yes. Yes I did.”
The pickup truck exited the highway all too soon, but the memory of potential Cantaloupe Chaos will live in my memory forever. And now, in yours.