To that fella that flipped me the over-exuberant bird this morning, I am sorry if you think I cut you off. I know I had enough room, but you apparently didn't think so. I hope calling me #1 made your day, because it made mine. I laughed at you. By the way, I can't read lips.
My commute is normally a relaxing 30 minute jaunt to the city. Traffic is never bad. Sometimes frustrating, but never really bad. It's usually not even memorable. But that could be attributed to me age. Da Wife and I both work in the city and share similar hours so we try to ride together when we can. And the times that she drives and I'm the passenger can be more stressful than the few times that traffic is bad. See, DW is a left lane hog. Drives me frikkin nuts. She'll pull into the hammer lane to pass a pokey, but she'll never move back to the pokey lane. I can see the zoomers stacked up behind her, the right lane is open, and she just motors along. I used to say something but now I just shut my mouth. It's not worth it. A fight never started is easily won.
Speaking of my commute, I hate minivans. Despise them. They are like rolling time bombs of inattentiveness, just waiting for that precise moment to swerve into my lane or jam on the binders for no good reason. Oh, I'm sure the reason is due to some mishap inside the minibus, but I don't care about that. Four thousand pounds of tin and plastic should be treated as such, not like a rolling kitchen or family room or bathroom.
And put down that fucking cell phone. Trust me, you are not important enough to be talking to anyone at 6:54 am. Get over yourself. Pay attention and drive.
I don't suffer from road rage. Most of this stuff is mildly irritating or I just laugh it off. One day I'll witness an accident that is a result of this carelessness and, being the good samaritan that I am, I'll pull over to help you.
And throw your phone in the weeds.
After I take your wallet.
Just kidding! It's fun to dream.
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