Meeting Angus

We all know him (or her). Let’s call him Angus. We’ll see him in our rearview mirror, changing lanes and zigzagging his way from far back there on the road to our back bumper in a minute or two. He is stuck behind us and starts swaying from right to left in the lane to signal we’re going far too sloooow. We check and see we’re going almost 10 miles over the speed limit. No faster than that, we decide. Now Angus is gesticulating we don’t know how to use the gas pedal. His arm is out of the window and his finger goes round and round – hurry up will ya!

Next he moves into the turning lane – right turn only, with an arrow. Phew, he’ll be gone. The light turns red. We stop, and he stops too. Oh, at least he’s yielding to the traffic before turning right.  We wait. The light turns green and we start crossing the intersection. And wroooom, he cuts in right in front of us from the turning lane. We stand on the brakes not to hit him. That was close!  No, that was Angus. He’s in a hurry. Always.

Or we may meet Angus in the office. He’s booked back-to-back, has a demanding job. He’s always running. In meetings he talks fast, cuts us off and completes our sentences. Talk faster, moron, come to the point. One day we may see him running to the photocopiers on his way out of the office. His assistant has forgotten to copy something he will need for his next string of meetings.

But the big copier is busy, collating 25 copies of a 100 page report. And the small one is out-of-order. A white paper taped to it tells the story. And he loses it! Yells and screams #&%@ to his assistant and the whole office. This is everybody’s fault. Why is nothing working in this place?! His jaw is clenched and sweat drips from his upper lip. Angus is an overachiever, due for promotion next month. What would the company do without him? But he hasn’t learned to manage his stress, and he doesn’t have any patience to talk of. He definitely doesn’t like problems. Ever.

Or we may meet Angus on the big city street around lunch time. Running with his briefcase under one arm, and the other waiving for a taxi. Taxi! Prepared to fight for the first taxi that appears around the corner. Seeing him approaching, we have already given up the hope to meet our lunch date on time.

But suddenly he’s down! Holding his chest. Now we need to call 911. It looks like poor Angus is having a heart attack. We’re still there next to him when the ambulance arrives.  We say we don’t really know him, just been meeting him here and there. The paramedics work fast, he’s lifted into the ambulance. And he’s gone.

Or is he?