LXXXVIII. Callbox. October 1, 2021

>driving Lyft

>I am fourth in line at one of those stupid gate callboxes

>foiled by the power of gated security

>with its all-knowing callbox

>such a callbox prevents hooliganism and general tomfoolery

>by deciding if one is worthy of entrance into the speed-bump mazes

>but mostly they are a useless pain in the ass

>the guy three cars ahead of me is having issues

>he is in one of those giant pickup trucks

>he must almost fall out of his window if he wishes to ask permission of the callbox

>every time he types a number into the callbox

>the callbox responds with a busy signal loud enough for me to hear

>the callbox does not like his numbers

>the callbox will not let him pass

>he cusses the callbox soundly, but to no avail

>the guy in the car behind him yells “Hey man, I have a passcode!”

>more cussing, more gesticulating

>finally the guy in the truck hits the gas

>his tires squeal as he does an overly dramatic U-turn over the median

>and thus he gets in line behind me

>the guy with the passcode uses it

>but commits the worst of faux pas by driving slowly

>one is required by all decency to gun it through the open gate

>so others may follow before the gate closes

>the guy in front of me honks the horn

>we crawl each others’ butts getting through

>I barely make it

>pickup truck guy does not

>lol