I rarely become angry while driving, and almost never yell, gesture or honk at another driver, due to a simple fact—I fear some unstable nut-job might pull out a handgun and start shooting at me.
However, there are certain driving maneuvers that just frustrate the living daylights out of me. I firmly believe that when an individual is behind the wheel, he has certain obligations to other motorists.
They have an implied duty as a member of society to execute proper measures to ensure that I am not hampered, impeded or unduly aggravated in any way while I’m on the road. If you cannot operate your vehicle under these conditions, then just get the heck out of my way.
So, with these basic principles in mind, let’s identify and ridicule this faction of troubled drivers.
The hateful honker—The light turns green and before you can remove your foot from the brake, the cretin behind you in his ’76 Volvo blasts his horn causing you to swallow your peppermint Altoid.
He’s undoubtedly some short wimpy dude with a Napoleon complex who received a butt rippin’ from his boss for losing the Krispy Kreme account that day and is hell-bent on payback by being a horses keister. I’d love to shove that horn…anyway, let’s move on.
The no-blinker stinker—I’m crusin’ along, groovin’ (I know the word groovin’ hasn’t been used since 1974 but I like its sound) to The Mamas and Papas when suddenly the fool in front of me stops to make a left turn in heavy traffic. Unfortunately he’s a no- blinker believer, and now I’m stuck behind a clunker with a bumper sticker reading “I break for poodles” while the other lane races by.
I submit to you that this should be a felony punishable with a minimum five year stretch in San Quentin Prison.
The pull-out lout—Why does a simpleton pulling out of a drive way or parking lot in front of me always slow down immediately? Answer—because they’re brain-dead, chimpanzee-like creatures who should have their license revoked and forced to join the Peace Corp and sent to Botswana.
The no-human head horror—If you can’t see the driver’s head in the car directly in front of you, you’ve got trouble my friend. My motto is, “Can’t see a head, may soon be dead!” Go around the vehicle or back off because the driver is under 5 feet tall and is stretching to see over the dashboard.
Or, they were once 5’6″ and have shrunk six inches, equating to a 93 year-old granny with severe glaucoma and dizzy spells. Short and old equals slow and blind. The multi-tasking mope—You’ve seen them and been amazed by their unique capacity to slap on makeup, gab on their cell, change their Kenny G CD and stuff an Egg McMuffin into their freshly lip-sticked mouth while holding a coffee cup with their chin, all at the same time.
It should be an Olympic event if you ask me. Here’s where I get myself into trouble; it’s always chicks—okay women. I’m not a strong believer in multi-tasking, especially on the 405 during rush hour.
The ain’t I cool fool—Okay, payback time—this one is usually a dude—actually, an egocentric, arrogant, silver haired dufus with surgically whitened teeth and a spray-on tan, who believes if he buys a fire engine red Corvette convertible, all the twenty-something hot chicks will want him. Bad news gramps, you’re wasting your money. Get a Ferrari, then you’re in like Flynn Sugar Daddy. I know I’m omitting countless other hazardous driving practices that make we flawless road worriers fearful. After sharing my concerns with everyone, I somehow feel much better and believe I’m now prepared to confront one of these offenders and let them know exactly how I feel about their dangerous driving habits.
I think I’ll start with my next door neighbor who exhibits extremely poor road safety techniques. I believe today is her 92nd birthday so I’ll wait until tomorrow.