BIZARRO AGED ALTRUISM: 2K7

So. I'm driving down the road at work today, minding my own business, thinking about the weekend and what may come with it, when, all of a sudden, I hear these three or four quick bursts of a car horn from beside me to my right. I glance over and I see an old man in a silver Grand Prix, gesturing at me with his left index finger and pointing towards the back of my work van. Immediately, it hits me: The left brake light is out. I know that. I've already talked to the garage at work about it. They'll get to it eventually.

"I know," I say, nodding to my closed passenger window, keeping one eye on the road. "My brake light is out; I know." I paste a grin to my mug and consider the matter closed and focus on the road. I look back over. The old man is still gesturing--almost wildly--and mouthing something at his closed driver's side window. I shake my head and point to my ear. I can't hear you. Still, the old man gestures at me and at the ass-end of the van, his eyes wide.

I think to myself, Well, hell, maybe it's not just my brake light. Maybe I somehow left my back doors open and gas meters and pipes are threatening to spill out onto Evergreen Road. I glance into my rearview mirror and note with relief that both doors are securely closed--nothing is spilling, all is right with the world.

I look back at the old man. He's still got one eye on me and one eye on the road. He points to my lane. I shrug and hold out my right hand, palm up. What? He points again, more animatedly. I get it. He wants to get into my lane and, I gather, he wants me to get into his lane. A little 43-MPH lane swap.

I sigh heavily. Whatever. He zigs in front of me and I zag behind him and almost break a minivan that is turning in to the road from the shopping center parking lot. It apparently has not gotten the memo that something catastrophic is happening at the ass-end of my van. I glimpse a minivan "O" of surprise and I swerve back into my lane briefly and then back into the old man's vacated lane. What. The. Fuck?!

[Had we erroneously shut his gas off? Was his house about to blow up? Was he wondering about an application that he had--30 years previously--filled out?]

There is a stop light ahead of me and so we coast to a stop, side-by-side.

I jerk down my window and he drops his passenger window.

I am, actually, extremely curious. I raise my eyebrows at him.

"It might not be worth all this commotion," the old man begins, "but I just wanted to let you know that your left brake light is out." He's little and bearded, Jewish and wide-eyed. His teeth are yellowed and misspaced and he wears a red newsboy cap atop his head. His eyes seem unfocused, in a way.

"I know," I say, forcing a polite smile. "I already talked to the garage about it. They just haven't gotten to it yet."

There is a brief silence. "They're lazy, huh?" he says, looking at the car ahead of him. "Maybe they could teach me something about that...you gonna fix it?"

I stare at him. I really don't know what to say. The light ahead turns green. "They know about the light. They'll get to it."

"Lazy," he mutters, and I accelerate ahead of the little bearded man, leaving him in my rearview mirror and sorta kinda maybe wishing that a five-foot section of one-inch galvanized steel pipe would be loose and maybe kinda sorta fall off my truck and maybe kinda sorta punch through his windshield and maybe sorta kinda knock some sense into his grizzled old cottony head.

And I think the "O" minivan would agree.