Pulled Over

On my way to work this morning, I was chatting with my mom when an SUV pulled up next to me. The driver started honking and, waving his arms wildly, pointing at my car.

The first thing to pop in my head was, "Did I leave my tea on top my car? Nah...it would have fallen off ten miles ago when I hit that bump."

The second thing to pop in my head was, "Oh my God! There's a killer in the back seat and this guy is trying to warn me."  After looking behind me...

The third thing to pop in my head was, "Oh my God! This guy is a killer and he's trying to get me to pull over so he can chop me to bits in front of the horrified morning commuters."

Because that's where my mind goes.

So, I did what most rational paranoid people would do. I kept my mom on the phone and pulled over. He was waving pretty frantically and I was starting to think maybe there was a kitten clinging for dear life to my bumper.

It was 7:30. My brain had not yet woken up.

Putting on my hazard lights, I watched as he parked behind me. He got out of his SUV dressed in a flannel shirt and work boots. He was big. Big enough to hack me to bits with one hand tied behind his back. As he jogged towards me, my concern for my own safety switched to concern for his.

Instead of heading towards the passenger side, he ran straight towards the driver's side while mere feet from his body semi trucks screamed down the freeway.  I rolled my window two inches down.

"Your tire is flat!"

"What?"

Your back right rear tire is flat. You need to get off the freeway now or else you'll have a blow out."

"Oh my God!" I said, instantly flashing to that scene from Zodiac where the serial killer offers to "fix" the woman's tire.

"Go to a gas station or something. It's not safe for you to drive," he added, concerned.

"Thank you! I'll get off the freeway at the next exit. Wow. Thank you for telling me."

"Okay! Be safe!" And he jogged back to his car. As I pulled back on to the freeway, he followed me. All the way to the exit, where he honked and continued to wherever he was going.

I pulled in to the gas station, ran around to the side of the car and, sure enough, my tire was flatter than a pancake. How did I not feel that?

And what an incredibly nice man to risk his own safety, and perhaps be late to work, to tell me.

I feel bad that I thought he was a serial killer.

On a related note, we have one more disc to go before we finish Season 4 of Dexter. I'm thinking it may be a good idea to switch over to romantic comedies for a while.