Assholes are being rude today. They're rude everyday, who am I kidding. But something about the first real heat wave of the season has brought out the bitchiness in everyone, including me.
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I have to get this out if I haven't yet: I hate drivers who go around me and quickly switch back onto my lane with barely a car length between us. You may be fast, but if so, you should be fast enough to put a hell of a lot more distance between us if you do that.
This comes when I went to work this morning. I was just minding my own business, driving 70 on the left lane, when all of a sudden (which usually happens) a fast car materializes behind my ass. This gray or silver Corvette doesn't skip a beat when it veers right and coasts ahead of me. I was afraid of what might happen next, and the asshole did it: He cut back in front of me, right back in front of me, even though there wasn't a car in front of me or in front of him for at least 75 yards.
Do you know why they do that? I have developed a theory. Asshole drivers like him believe they are entitled to their own lane on the highway, and if someone dares to venture onto it, they'll quickly "reclaim" it as soon as they are able. So it didn't matter that he dusted my ass, or could have stayed at 100 on the lane to my right. No, as soon as humanly possible, this piece of shit was going to take back what was his. Fucking baby.
And the worst thing about this is is that it happened so fast I couldn't get the license plate. I caught a glimpse, but I was too concentrated on the road to focus on the plate, and by the time I did, he was off. I fucking hate that; of all the cars to keep track of, it's guys like those, the rude speedsters, that need to be tracked the most. And they're the hardest to nail down.
Next time, next time. ...
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It spilled over to my time after eating Pizza Hut with my parents for dinner. I stopped by the gas station for gasoline and Powerball tickets. The slow motherfucker ahead of me thought it was economical to buy all his pop at the gas station, a half-dozen bottles. After he got rang up, he sauntered back down the aisle to browse for more things. He then wanted cigarettes after the checkout lady gave him his total. And then he took a solid half-minute to do something with the bag of pop, either rearrange them or get a handle on the handles. It was fucking ridiculous, and I was waiting, just waiting, for the girl to just take my Powerball slip.
So I was pissed. Maybe she was too. My order (tickets and gas) wasn't complicated, but apparently there were people behind her, and she was swamped. She was getting a little pissy too. I don't think she said hi to me when this slow prick finally got out of the way. She finally called for help. And our dueling pissed-offness was on full display when she tried to put the receipt I requested on the counter and I moved my hand vigorously enough to take it out of her hand. And she did say "have a nice night," I think, and I didn't answer.
I take responsibility for my part in not being civil. I wasn't, wasn't really. I don't think she was all that great, either. Dammit, this is the place where I get gasoline. I will see her again, because I have to. Man, I hope the both of us can see eye-to-eye next time, without full hearts, and blame the asshole that caused this goddamn mess in the first place.
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And I saw one car scoot across lanes through just after a red light turned green. And there was an asshole car that cut me off on the way to Caffetto, where I'm blogging this.
Cooler weather's coming, but not tomorrow. Severe weather's coming then. In fact, there is this derecho coming in in the morning. The straight-line winds could be horrible.
Hot time, summer in the city. ...
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