Welcome to the mish-mash in Puna's mind. Subjects may include crafts, crochet, knitting, scrapbooking, gaming, star wars, movies, killer bunnies, great and wonderful wizards named Tim, and pretty much anything else besides Taylor Lautner.

Sunday, April 29, 2012

Bumptious Driver

The other day, I was driving home from work and secretly wishing that the ass-wipe that just cut me off had actually hit my car. Strange right? Not for me. I've just realized that I fervently wish for this to happen a lot. A lot. Let me explain.

My commute to and from work consists of fifteen minutes of driving on small roads through residential neighborhoods. Great, isn't it? (I do realize that I am super lucky on this point because most people have to deal with gridlock traffic hell and their commute usually takes days and days. I'm lucky and yet I still complain.)

The unfortunate thing is that people here seem to think that the other cars - you know, the ones with the right-of-way and no stop signs for miles - are supposed to stop for them when they decide to suddenly pull out from behind the stop sign which they've been sitting at for at least an hour. It's almost as if these idiots have decided to lay in wait to ambush innocent car drivers as they unassumingly cruise by on their way home from work. I seem to be the perfect target for every single last one of these freakin' people.

Stop sign ambush may not be as scary as droideka ambush, but it's close
So, this guy cuts me off, makes me hit my brakes, (one of my biggest pet peeves when driving is having to brake needlessly) then proceeds to drive incredibly slowly. Very, very slowly. (And before you ask, no, I was not following a retiree.) Now I'm thinking, "Really? Do you have ANY clue that there are other people on the road?" To which he responds by driving even slower. And this is when, completely out of the blue, I think, "Mother fucker, you should have just HIT me in the first place!" It's not a death wish, I assure you.

I have a kind of twisted logic in this scenario. My thinking is that, one, I am a good driver and would not be at fault if this ass-clown hit me; two, this guy's a horrible, stupid driver and doesn't even know it; and three, my car is pretty much a piece of shit. In my rage-induced, dysfunctional logic, adding these three things together equals the perfect vindication for me and the perfect lesson for him. With foreordained righttitude, as if it were handed down by God, this accident would, in my mind, remake the world into a better place. Everything would now be perfect because this guy hit me, proved me right, realized that he was wrong, decided to reform his driving etiquette, and was appropriately punished for being a jackass, all in one fell swoop. Some times I can really be an idiot when road rage is involved.
Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately in my case, none of this ever happens. I never get hit with a jackass' car, the heavens never open to reveal the hand of God sweeping down to deliver justice upon obnoxious drivers, idiots never EVER realize they're wrong, and the world is never made into a Utopia of unmolested driving. I'll keep wishing for it, though.

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