Jeep, jacked up on all fours with tires
big enough to dwarf a road-grader, and had struts and shock absorbers
and what-not sticking out all over the undercarriage--a real useful
piece of machinery for navigating the treacherous Silicon Valley
freeways: when you see a car you don't like, you just roll right over
it. The Jeep had one of those typical California vanity plates, held
in place by a brass frame which, had I been able to read it in the
dark, would have said "My other truck is a Mack." The driver was
pumping on his brakes continually, no doubt keeping time to some
Country Christmas Hit Classic. Lounging on top of this pinnacle of
western automotive engineering was a Christmas tree, lashed with a
couple pieces of thin twine--probably on its way to a living room hung
with paintings of nudes on black velvet, and soon to be littered with
tacky country decorations and strings of popcorn. The tree listed to
one side, bobbing over the edge of the Jeep's roof in time with the
blinking brake lights. The driver's girlfriend was smooching up to him
in the front seat--I could see her outline through the back window,
practically sitting in his lap... maybe she _was_ in his lap. I
started thinking they probably deserved to lose the whole tree. They'd
have a real nice surprise when they got home without it.

I reached over to turn on the radio again, thinking the hourly excerpt
from the Messiah might be over by then. I should have brought a tape
from home, but I'd barely had time to change my suit. Just when my
eyes were averted for an instant, the Christmas-tree bedecked vehicle
in front of me decided to drop its load. I felt my car go bump, bump,
and slammed on my brakes before I even looked up. The car behind me
skidded and swerved to one side, then leaned on his horn as if he'd run
into an iceberg. I just hit the emergency lights and leaned on my own
horn. The guy in front, perhaps hearing the tooting chorus behind him,
stopped just down the road, and like an idiot, put his Jeep into
reverse and came hurtling back toward me. He skidded to a stop and put
on his emergency lights.

What kind of jerk ties down a Christmas tree so loosely that it flops
off in the middle of a freeway? We were only doing twenty miles an
hour--in the rain, no less. I thought I would have to get out and
check the extent of the damage, and I wasn't happy about slogging in
the rain with my dress shoes on. Hallelujah, the jerk stoppe