I was tooling out 26 towards no-man's land w/a customer, just coming out of the tunnel from downtown and I start smelling something bad. BAD. As in - "jesus h shift a fuckin' gear" type of bad. There's about 7 or 8 cars in front of me that I can see, and it's raining like a sumbitch and yet I can still see a fog of stink in front of me. We make it up past the zoo, almost to the Sylvan exit and I see the car that's blowing up the ozone about 1/2 mile ahead of us. We chat about the smell and I catch up to said stinker just before the 217 exit.
I get about 4 car lengths behind in the fast lane, as dude is in the slow lane and I wanna get past his odorific self when dude sorta glides all the way over into my lane, then back to his. Neat. Not only is his car a piece, but dude is drunk too. Waaaay coooool doooood. So I call the cops.
Me: Hey there. My name is M, I drive for *** Cab and I'm driving behind a dude that's weaving all over the 3 lanes of traffic on 26 outbound. (I'm a left/right kinda gal, no good with the East/West crap).
Disp: OK, where exactly are you.
Me: We're just this side of the exit 69b. I caught dude's car about a mile back, it's smoking so bad you can smell him from that far back and WHOA!!! Was that his BUMPER?? I say to fella in back. He affirms. Dude's bumper just came flying off his car.
Disp: I don't want to know the exit number. I want to know the name of the exit.
Me: Um. Ok. 217/Tigard exit.
Disp: Thank you. What type of car is he driving?
Me: Station wagon. Plate number is ...
Disp: ExCUSE me, when I'm ready for the plate I will let you know. NOW, listen and answer only what I ask you. What TYPE of VEhicle is he DRIving. She starts talking to me like I'm stupid. Not a lot in this world makes me angrier than treating me like I'm stupid for no reason. Or even if there is for that matter. SURE way to piss me off with a quickness. :o(
Me: I SAID he was driving a station wagon. Did YOU not HEAR me?
Disp: Don't get snotty with me, just answer the questions.
Me: Fine. Don't get snotty with me and I will.
Disp: What color is the car?
Me: I don't know. It's dark out here.
Disp: You got close enough to get the plate number but you don't know what color the car is?
Me: I'm sorry, but do you dislike me specifically or just all cab drivers cuz you're sure being a bitch here.
Disp: There's no need to get rude.
Me: You're preachin' to the choir here sister. Whatsay we just get this over with quickly and painlessly, hey?
Disp: Fine. Now you say you don't know the color of the car but you know the plate number. Well, since that is all the information you seem to have what IS the plate number?
Me: My gawd woman. It's raining like a motherfucker out here, 4 o'clock in the effin' morning, darker than shit and you're bustin' my balls because I didn't get the GODDAMNED COLOR OF THE DRUNK DRIVER'S FUCKING CAR?? His license plate number is ... ... And if that isn't good enough than I guess you can hunt me down AFTER we finish killing time with your attitude and he kills somebody as he's weaving all over the FUCKING ROAD. Is this really what's important here, the color of his fucking car?
Disp: ExCUSE me ma'am, but we like to get as much information as possible.
Me: Then ask your damned questions and quit giving me so much grief.
So we finished that call pretty quickly after that. Bitch.