In late 1989, I had applied for a job as a nursing supervisor in a little hospital Up North. As is customary in such conversations, they wanted me to meet for an in person interview. The drive from Da City, to the new place was on the order of three hours, and I did not see how arising at around oh-dark-thirty, bathing etcetera, dressing in my interview clothes, and then driving for three hours, all so I could be on time for an 0900 interview, was calculated for success.
So, I drove up the preceding evening, and secured a motel room for the night. On my happy way there, I drove, fat, dumb, and happy, casually listening to my CB radio. (for, these were the fabled Eighties, when CB radio was A Thing!)
As I motored along the interstate, somewhere kinda north of Bay City, I heard, briefly, the declamation invoking The Patron Saint of Regularity: “Holy Shit!”
That successfully snapped me out of my reverie. I slowed, moved into the right lane, and picked up the microphone and invited my corespondent to elaborate. “Station calling, what is happening?”
Several similar entreaties elicited no more information, I resolved to Pay More Attention.
Doing so, paid off shortly, as I beheld headlights of southbound traffic. This was unsurprising, as that interstate is kind of a major north-south artery.
What became surprising, was the insight that this particular southbound car, WAS IN THE FREAKING NORTHBOUND LANE!
That was startling, right there! Fortunately, after a manner of speaking, this vehicle was staying to his right, traveling southbound in the high speed lane of the northbound highway. He flashed past me, and I continued my deliberate, frazzled, way north.
Musings of A Stretcher Ape 