Every now and then you see a sticker on the back of a car, usually a van: What do you think about my driving style? Followed by a phone number. What do they really want? A compliment? A curse cannonade? I put it to the test, but I should not have done that.
It starts on the N206, a provincial road in South Holland. At Valkenburg, it will become two-lane with a central reservation, to become twice single-lane with a continuous line between Noordwijk and Noordwijkerhout. Somewhere I am driving in a northerly direction when I see a van on the ramp at Noordwijk that is roughly parallel to me. I move up to the left lane so he can insert.
Because my pace is slightly higher, by the time the van is on the right lane I am three quarters ahead of him. The narrowing of the road is coming, so I indicate to the right. While I have already started that maneuver, I see in my right wing mirror that he suddenly accelerates and is pushing to my right. To avoid a collision, I steer back to the left, onto the driving surface, where I have to apply full brakes before entering the right lane.
For many people, this would have led to horns, light signals and sign language that Irma Sluis can learn from. But I never get into traffic disputes. That’s the way it is: an argument always requires two people. It takes two to tango, but I don’t dance. Especially no tango with a complete stranger. It is not my calling to educate fellow road users and I am not interested in being right either. Even if you got it, what are you buying right away? Okay, when you climb on my bonnet at the traffic light, drop your pants, crouch down and deposit your feces on my windshield, you have a chance of a little altercation. But this gentleman doesn’t, so I’ll settle for the look of the back of his van.
It doesn’t take long before my eyes fall on that sticker. Hey, one question. A well-bred person answers politely, so I dial that number for once. “Good morning, courier company From A to Z like a Rocket, you are talking to Miranda. What can I do for you?” I greet Miranda and tell her I have an answer to the question on the back of her van: “Lousy.” “What happened then, sir?” I am telling you about the strange action I just witnessed. Miranda doesn’t interrupt me once. It has been a while since a Miranda hung on my every word. “Annoying sir, I understand,” she says in an understanding voice. “I’ll give your number to the person who is dealing with this and they will call you back as soon as possible.” I do not understand that. I was under the impression that Miranda is about this. But maybe she just needed a break after a morning of phone calls with little more depth than “Just a minute, I’ll put you through.” We wish each other a good day, after which Miranda disappears from my life for good.
About ten kilometers further, I am now driving past Keukenhof, the number of the sticker appears on my screen. One Steef introduces himself, he is the one at Van A naar Z Logistic Solutions (Miranda said ‘courier services’, crosses my mind) who is about this. Whether I want to tell in detail what exactly happened. I now regret that I called, but I am not the worst. Whoever says A has to say B (or, in this case, Z), so again I’m going to explain the whole story. “Annoying sir”, Steef concludes my account. “I will address the driver about it.” After exchanging the necessary pleasantries, I end the conversation.
I would have liked to tell you that with that Steef had disappeared from my life forever. But the next evening, just when I want to watch the NOS news with my dinner on my lap, that damned number reappears on my screen. “Good evening, Mr. Jacobs. I spoke to the driver today and ..” “Sorry, but I’m about to ..” “.. he has a completely different ..” “.. to eat ..” “.. version of your story ..” “I think it’s fine, but you are calling wrong ..” “Our driver said you had a large object in the passenger seat.” “That’s right, that’s my cats’ carrier.” “Our driver thought that would prevent you from seeing your right wing mirror. That’s why he thought it was safer to drive for you before coming to the right.” And I had a flat tire and the bridge was open, I think while I gag Annechien. “Steef, if I hadn’t been able to see my mirror, you would have had one less van now and I would have lost my car.” I poke a potato on my fork, without much hope of it reaching my mouth before it’s cold. “Still, I want to keep both versions of the story next to each other, that’s why ..” “Steef? You asked a question of six words and one punctuation mark. I answered it well-mannered as I am with a short, concise answer. As far as I am concerned, fire that driver on the spot or give him a hefty bonus, whichever seems best to you. I don’t care, but I’m not waiting for a part in the Driving Judge. You’ll have to settle for that . ” It seems to be getting through to him. “So I may consider the matter settled?” “You should have done that yesterday after my conversation with Miranda.” I wish him a good evening and luckily I only missed the first news item.
C.uriousity killed the cat, I understand, but never call such a number. Unless you’re in need of a break. Maybe you can stick such a sticker on your own car yourself. But know you won’t hear from me.
Unless you shit on my hood, of course.