I Wave; Therefore I Am

With more than forty years of experience driving on Bell Springs Road, and with more than thirty years under my belt of walking it on an almost daily basis, I know The Bell well. If you have never experienced this once-upon-a-time-stagecoach-route, then you may not be aware that we are a friendly group of dirt roaders.

We wave at one another as we pass, though in maneuvering in tight quarters, one doesn’t always see the wave. Some flash the peace sign, others the thumb/pinkie ensemble while still others toss out a salute. The gesture, regardless of its form, is merely an acknowledgment that you exist, and have come into incidental contact with another.

Obviously, this also serves as a mechanism for determining whether or not the vehicle approaching you is local or not. My peace sign has been returned in countless manners; it has also been ignored a Brazilian times. What I had never experienced, until Thursday, anyway, is the brush-off wave.  

You know, the dismissive, yawn, I’m-willing-to-write-you-off kind of thing. Is nothing sacred? Ignore me, wave, flip me the bird, whatever, but don’t give me one of these, “Good. Lord. Now. I. Suppose. I. Have. To. Wave. Back. arrangements, especially if you are driving what could possibly double as a Sherman tank, except that Sherman tanks do not generally rock chrome. So much.

Like this...

No wave frequently means that the person being waved at is not a local, and therefore assumes he was taken for someone else. Why else would someone wave, right? No wave could also mean that in navigating the road, both hands were needed, but that would probably mean no wave from either party.

Or if you are some sort of curmudgeon, and you don’t wave period, then your vehicle becomes readily identifiable as exactly that: the unfriendly dude. But I can’t think of anyone like that, you know?

Maybe the guy who brushed me off is some sort of celebrity, and is accustomed to giving people the brush-off, in which case he probably would have ignored me.

Hey, I have a pair of pants just like these...
and a yellow polo shirt. 

No, this is comparable to the “constructo wave,” but with none of the personality. The constructo wave is the one where you recognize the individual coming at you, but you dread having to stop and actually make with the palaver, so you gun the engine, plaster the biggest grin you can muster up on your face, and thrust your non-driving arm forward as though saluting the Fuhrer himself.

In essence you are saying, “Hey there good buddy, great to see you, had a hard-ass day, got to get home to some ice cold beer-and my woman-and get the barbecue started!”

All in that one gesture.

But the brush-off? 

Ach tung, Chucko. Get it together if you want to call yourself a local in good standing. 

Otherwise, you’re just a loco.