Colitas Jones should have known better to be driving around while she was this pissed off. Instead of adjusting the rearview mirror, she snapped it off, which triggered a stream of negative thoughts about disposable cheap manufacturing.
She tossed the mirror in the back of the car. It was cushioned by bags and wrappers of junk food dinners, mostly Arby’s® garbage, and underneath all that clutter, at least three more rearview mirrors.
As if to antagonize her further, “Hotel California” came on the classic rock radio station. If she could have, she would have yanked the stereo out, but instead changed the station by stabbing her finger at the preset buttons. It was a talk show and hell damn it, it was her mother’s voice. She turned off the radio and screamed.
She could not believe how fate forced the two things she hated most in her face like that. She had to pull over. She banged her head on the steering wheel.
Like so many dreamers before her, she was on her way to Hollywood to pursue the clichéd dream of becoming the best special education teacher ever.
She took a deep breath and it dawned on her. She finally understood what you can’t see the forest for the trees actually meant.