Attacked By A Guy Who Looks Like Dave Chapelle

We’re about to merge into the Lincoln Tunnel. This is tough under most circumstances; 20 lanes somehow merge into two in a span of about 250 yards. It’s especially tough today since traffic has been at a standstill.

We come perilously close to taking off the rear view mirror of a black Honda Accord on the passenger’s side. The driver in the other car starts leaning on his horn and cursing at us. He literally has foam coming out of his mouth.

He follows us through the Tunnel, just an inch or two behind us. I’m in the backseat staring at him the entire time. He continues to scream obscenities. He fiddles around with something in his lap and then quickly brings a camera to his face. He starts snapping pictures of the back of the van.

I immediately come to the realization that this man has a camera at the ready in case he needs to take pictures of drivers he feels have wronged him. I memorize his license plate.

We enter New York City and follow our usual path. He’s still behind us, right on our bumper. We hit some gridlock. The other driver pulls up next to us and gets out of the car. He looks a lot like Dave Chapelle circa Half Baked.

He runs up to the passenger’s seat and punches the window.

“HEY MOTHERFUCKER,” he screams. “YOUR FUCKING HIT THE MIRROR OF MY CAR YOU MOTHERFUCKER!”

He starts punching the door of the van as hard as he can. Like “Star Punch” in Mike Tyson’s Punch Out hard.

“YOU FUCKING DICKHEAD! I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU!”

As this is going on, the entire van is silent.

He continues to punch the van, over and over again, with full force. He then kicks the door twice, calls us a “Motherfucker” one more time, and returns to his car and drives away.

“What can you do,” Charlie says, shrugging his shoulders.

“I was reading the newspaper. I had no idea anything was going on until I saw this guy punching the van,” Barbara adds.

We good-naturedly talk about the “incident” the next day and then it is quickly forgotten.

Ten days after we were attacked, Charlie asks me, “Hey, do you remember that guy’s license plate number? I think I might report him.”