What's an angry blog without a little road rage?
I'll start off here by admitting I'm not the best driver in the world. I like getting places quickly, and I'm also from New York. Add those two things together and you have a sticky situation at times. Just ask my good friend Mel, who witnessed my complete disregard for automobile safety so I could get home before my hungry relatives ate my aunt's clam dip last Thanksgiving. (At one point, she grabbed the sides of the seat, looked at me with terror in her eyes and screamed, "BITCH, THE CLAM DIP IS NOT WORTH IT!!!" "It," presumably, meaning our lives. Then, we got home safely and she tried the clam dip. It was then that she understood. The clam dip was indeed worth it.)
My somewhat questionable vehicular history notwithstanding, there are some moves that people pull on the road that actually make me wish I had a .22 in my car so I could just complete a drive-by and call it a day. Or, whatever you call it when you shoot someone from your car who is sitting in another car. A drive-pull-up-next-to? Whatever.
Sitting in traffic sucks. Really, really, blows. There is nothing worse than sitting in your gas-guzzling SUV, listening to it guzzle expensive gas, going nowhere. You keep looking around, but you see the same fucking thing every time you do because you haven't moved in the last hour. You've listened to every damn song on the six CDs in your changer, and even tried some of your mom's Barbara Streisand CD that she left in there, which made you about 6000 times angrier than you already were. You try listening to the radio, but three stations are playing that Rihanna song from last summer and the other three are playing "Airplanes," which is actually the most overplayed song in the history of radio. After punching the radio, you pull out your phone for the fourth time in 3 minutes, only to see that no one has texted you yet. You sigh, put your phone down, and look out the window again...only to see some jackass douchebag in a Honda Civic blow by you on the shoulder. Cue endless rage.
The shoulder, for the record, is not a lane. It's not part of the road. Off-limits. Against the rules. Not allowed. Prohibited. And lots of other synonyms for don't fucking do it. At some point, Honda driver, you are going to need to get back into the real road. Probably when you see a cop and pee yourself and all of a sudden realize you're not a real badass. If this happens anywhere near me, good luck motherfucker. I will drive within centimeters of the car in front of me until you give up and try to inch your way in somewhere else. Do not try to pull in in front of me. I will rear end the car in front of me 1000 times over before I let your disrespectful ass in. It's especially pleasing for me when everyone feels the way I do, and no one lets you in. Then you're sitting in the shoulder, looking like the moron that you are, and you get the lovely experience of watching the car that you were behind in the first place inch in front of you. Poetic justice, Honda douchebag. That's what happens when you test me.
The same goes for situations when the left lane is closing soon. On my way to work, there is an area of the road where it goes from three lanes to two. There is ample warning in the form of a big yellow sign that says "LEFT LANE CLOSING IN 1/4 MILE, MERGE RIGHT." That sign makes it abundantly clear. Tells you exactly what you need to do. Move over. If that wasn't enough, there's another sign approximately 4 seconds further down the road that says, shockingly enough, "LEFT LANE CLOSING IN 1/8 MILE, MERGE RIGHT." Now you have no excuses. You've been reminded twice in the past 10 seconds. Move. the fuck. over. And I do. I'm happily in the middle lane, proud of myself for following directions, and waiting for the left lane to slowly and calmly taper off. Then, all of a sudden, I have to slam on the brakes, snapping my neck and letting out an embarrassingly vulgar stream of swear words. Why? Because three dickwads in shitty Nissans with bumper kits that cost more than their cars decided to have "whose dick is bigger?" contest and fly down the closing left lane so they could create a bottleneck when the lane actually closes and they have to shove their way in. Why? Please. Someone. Just explain this to me. Is it fun? Should I try it? Do they yell, "Haha, slow motherfuckers!" as they drive by, even though they know they're going to have to come to a complete halt and hope that we are nice enough to let them in? Do they actually not know that the lane ends? That's impossible, right? I mean, there were 2 signs. Two big ass signs. Needless to say, same process goes for these asshats. You wanna be a douche? Fine, I'll be one too. You will sit there, with your car at an awkward angle, while I drive dangerously close to the car in front of me. I will pass you, and probably wave at you as I do. Your small, useless brain probably won't be able to process this and you'll likely think I'm hitting on you, but that's ok. I will be happy in my victory, and laugh maniacally as I see you in my rear view mirror, still stopped, blinker on, hoping for some compassion.
Then I'll rear end the guy in front of me and realize that this whole post could very easily be directed at myself. Fuck.