Judgements
I am a notoroious road-rager. Cut me off? I will yell at you. Change lanes without signaling? I will yell at you. Confront me? I will tell you witheringly to shut the @#$% up and get out of my way, which is all I really want in the first place. On the other hand, I am a very courteous driver. I never cut anyone off. I always signal BEFORE I change lanes or turn. I wave thanks when you let me in. I leave the door open* to let you merge. I wave you in or across if the right of way is in question, if our arrival at a four-way stop is a photo-finish. Sometimes I yell to be helpful, like when I am not sure the brain dead driver in the Overnight truck who just made an illegal left turn onto a downtown street knows I am there, and the if he changes lanes just now he will crush my car. (That was today.)
Here's what I don't do. (This was also today.)
I don't know who you are, A BARAKA, ye of the crappy green Subaru, but I suspect that you put your name on your license plate for the same reason your mother put nametags on your underwear. (Yes, I stole that; no, I'm not apologizing.) Given that we were in the Presbeterian Medical Center area, whose roads are a mess, seemingly designed to make it as difficult and slow and confusing as possible to get where you're going when seeking medical attention, I did not honk at you when you proceeded to go 25 to 30 MPH in a 35 MPH zone. Nor did I tailgate or rev my engine at you (something I do when, say, someone tuns right on a red light in front of me and proceeds to go 20 miles per hour in a 45; let ye without sin . . . ). And then, when we reached the intersection at Randolph Road, where the remains of the old ambulance entrance and the narrowness of the road required that the turn lanes-- both left and right, making a total of three lanes at the light-- are a mere car-length-and-a-quarter long, I did not, as you did, start honking and cursing and fingering the driver ahead of you, who was signaling that he now understood the the lane he needed to be in was the one on his right, the one he could not enter until the two cars in that lane had gone, something the two cars in that lane were having difficulty doing given that your choice was to crowd the right lane in an attempt to get around the car trying to get into the right lane.
The fact that you kept honking and fingering and yelling and gesturing after the other guy turned and was out of your way was just further insult. To yourself, not to me. I mean, man, I was just plain embarrassed for you. You were going like 10 miles an hour.
So, Mr. A BARAKA if that IS your real name (I am almost positive this was a white guy), if you are wondering why I made that intensely sharp right turn as we got to the next intersection, it is . . . Well, that's where I was going anyways. But I was glad not to be following your slow, abusive ass any further.
Oh, and assuming, as is likely, that you appopriated the name of the poet Amiri Baraka to put on the back of your @$%ed-up Suburu? He did his best work back when his name was still LEROI JONES. Schmuck.
*Open the door: leave a sufficient space for merging traffic to get in between your vehicle and the one ahead.
Here's what I don't do. (This was also today.)
I don't know who you are, A BARAKA, ye of the crappy green Subaru, but I suspect that you put your name on your license plate for the same reason your mother put nametags on your underwear. (Yes, I stole that; no, I'm not apologizing.) Given that we were in the Presbeterian Medical Center area, whose roads are a mess, seemingly designed to make it as difficult and slow and confusing as possible to get where you're going when seeking medical attention, I did not honk at you when you proceeded to go 25 to 30 MPH in a 35 MPH zone. Nor did I tailgate or rev my engine at you (something I do when, say, someone tuns right on a red light in front of me and proceeds to go 20 miles per hour in a 45; let ye without sin . . . ). And then, when we reached the intersection at Randolph Road, where the remains of the old ambulance entrance and the narrowness of the road required that the turn lanes-- both left and right, making a total of three lanes at the light-- are a mere car-length-and-a-quarter long, I did not, as you did, start honking and cursing and fingering the driver ahead of you, who was signaling that he now understood the the lane he needed to be in was the one on his right, the one he could not enter until the two cars in that lane had gone, something the two cars in that lane were having difficulty doing given that your choice was to crowd the right lane in an attempt to get around the car trying to get into the right lane.
The fact that you kept honking and fingering and yelling and gesturing after the other guy turned and was out of your way was just further insult. To yourself, not to me. I mean, man, I was just plain embarrassed for you. You were going like 10 miles an hour.
So, Mr. A BARAKA if that IS your real name (I am almost positive this was a white guy), if you are wondering why I made that intensely sharp right turn as we got to the next intersection, it is . . . Well, that's where I was going anyways. But I was glad not to be following your slow, abusive ass any further.
Oh, and assuming, as is likely, that you appopriated the name of the poet Amiri Baraka to put on the back of your @$%ed-up Suburu? He did his best work back when his name was still LEROI JONES. Schmuck.
*Open the door: leave a sufficient space for merging traffic to get in between your vehicle and the one ahead.
Labels: Menningitis, Patricide, Poultry
posted by Bobo the Wandering Pallbearer at 9:32 AM
4 Comments:
I get the tags Meningitis (presumed cause of brain damage illustrated in post) and Poultry (to wit: chickenshit, as abusive moniker aimed at driver discussed in post), but not Patricide.
I also feel you owe it to your readers to point out that although you are a polite driver, you are not for all that what one would call an unaggressive driver.
Anyway, I'm glad you didn't kill him. I don't know why, but I am.
OK - I'll pose a question - why in the heck do epople get all wiggy when they merge? why don't they just.....MERGE?
I too leave the door open. I have hopes that one day all people will do so and the bottleneck will disappear overnight in a tidal wave of kindness.
I also believe in fairies.
I love road rage stories. Inconsiderate drivers are one of my biggest pet peeves.
I, too, love road rage stories. What a dink that guy is.
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