Illustration by Bob AulSend anonymous thanks, confessions or accusations—changing or deleting the names of the guilty and innocent—to "Hey, You!" c/oOC Weekly, P.O. Box 10788, Costa Mesa, CA 92627-0247, or e-mail us at firstname.lastname@example.org.
To the woman driving on the westbound 22 freeway on Saturday night, Feb. 24, at about 8 p.m. in the pitch black and pouring rain. The 22 was a fast-flowing mess of cars and light was bouncing off all that wet metal and asphalt. I was the driver in the speeding pickup that raced behind you, flashed my lights, came close to grazing your bumper and then swerved around to your left. That's when I lost control of my dickhead friend who rolled down his window and flipped you off. I laughed—until I looked over and saw your face. You were terrified. And you were black and a woman. And it occurred to me what we must look like: two white rednecks in a pickup, singling you out for trouble. But I swear we were just being assholes. It wasn't a race thing, or a male-female thing, but I thought all night about the fact that you might think it was. I'm sorry that we scared you, and I'm even sorrier that we might have made you feel unsafe in your skin. I'm a dick, but I'm not a racist or a sexist. I guess I treat everyone like shit. Sorry.