Got my slurpee. Got my chili dog. Got my Sociology textbook to study on the way to class. Now just time to merge into traffic.
Bad drivers are the worst. Every where you go, no turn signals, cutting people off, not using proper avoiding maneuvers when you spot a pedestrian lying bloodied in the street. Makes me sick. It’s like, do people have no common courtesy anymore? But I’m a good driver. Twice as good as these half- blind wish-I-could-drives. Let me just quick hold my phone keyboard closer to my face while I get on the highway, then I can complain about bad drivers some more.
That’s better. Yea, so bad drivers. I pull out. Storm clouds on the way. It’s only a twenty minute drive. Should be plenty of time to shave my eyebrows and clip my toenails on the way down I-76. Oh, look at this guy. Seriously? Driving with one headlight out. Dangerous, man. Maybe just turn yourself in. Get this scum off the streets. Keep our children safe. Yeah, look at him, where’d he get his license? University of Phoenix? Ha, chyeah, like he has a license.
Here comes the rain. Pouring, drenching raindrops. I read somewhere there shouldn’t be obstructions in your face when you drive, so I better not use my windshield wipers. It might distract me. I’ll turn my headlights off, too. I don’t want anyone to crash because of headlight-blinding or anything. I hear that’s a thing.
Alright, time to study.
That’s a beep. That’s a doucher beep in my direction. They make two lanes for a reason, guy. I should be allowed to use both of them at the same time if I want to. Go read the rulebook or something. Ignorant.
I’m eating my chili dog. Soo sloppy. I love me a sloppy chili dog. Burning hot in my lap sloppy chili dog. Where’s my drink? Oh, there are you. Whoop, on the floor, soda rolling on the floor. Under my brake pedal. Stuck under my brake pedal. I gotchu, buddy. There we go.
People just love their horns. Why don’t you just marry your horn? Horn-lover. Maybe pay attention to your family as much as your horn and you wouldn’t be divorced and living with your mom at 38. I’m just venting, I don’t really know if that guy’s divorced and useless. I didn’t even see him since I had my eyes on my feet while I fetched my soda pop.
Do people still say that? Soda pop? I’ll look it up. Since I’m typing on my phone I’ll fetch my laptop from the back seat and Wiki it. Cruise control set to 65, one finger on the steering wheel, there we go.
Soda pop. Yup, that’s a thing, alright. Intriguing.
“Hey! Hey! You!”
“Yeah, you, dingle dick!”
Uh oh. Aggressive driver alert. Fortyish. Probably commutes two hours to work every day. Probably has a real stuffy suburban apartment with a frig full of Stella Artois, writes the days he mows his yard on the calendar, loves policing the highways. I can handle this.
“Yeah, I said you! Keep your eyes on the road!”
He looks soo dumb. Baldy head hangin’ out the window in his dress shirt and tie. What is this, like, everybody wear a tie on the highway day? Yeah, get a life.
“You’re getting drenched, man. Tuck that drive-in sized forehead back in the window before you get hurt. Seagull’s gonna fly by and make a drop zone out of yo bald dome.”
Did you see that rhyme there? That tinge of gangster twang that just melted deep from within my upper class loins like butter on hot corn? Just dropped that little road rage banter like it was nothing. I’m telling you, it’s a different world on the highway. No rules here. Aw man, brake lights everywhere. I better floss before I hit the traffic.
Flossing, flossing, these chicken chunks are ridiculous! Should’ve never had chipotle chick chick for lunch lunch. Just gotta get closer to the mirror, goodbye chicken chunks in my gums, much better.
My front bumper. Right in his rear end. Pretty substantial damage. Not to me. Just to him. I’ll just pull up on the shoulder and see if he’s cool. He’s yelling at me. Small children in the back seat. Terrified, it looks like. Sucks, they probably got whiplash. Dad should have been a better driver, kids. Still yelling at me. Oh, now he’s waving. Waving a lot. What does the waving mean? Guess he’s trying to tell me he’s fine and I should drive on. And the kids faces, all scared-like, they’re probably terrified I won’t get to my destination on time. What a nice family. Alright, I’ll comply and move along.
What a terrible father. Learn how to be stopped in traffic and not get hit, man. Maybe watch out for the cars coming at you from behind. Just completely embarrassed yourself in front of your children. Good luck with the whole gaining their respect thing.
I think I’ll just get off this exit. In case that dad changes his mind and tries to get revenge for him being a terrible driver. I don’t know what he could do. What, is he gonna slingshot Goldfish and applesauce cups at me? Chyea, get a life, dad.
Now I’m on the main line. Lots of traffic here. All the more reason for me to finish my chili dog and reach back into my trunk for the napkins I keep safely tucked with my survival kit. All drivers should have one. A bottle of whiskey, a single band-aid, and a pack of carrot sticks, ‘cause carrot sticks are great for road health.
I can’t believe all these folks are out strollin’ around in the rain. Little kids and moms and puppies everywhere. Haven’t you ever heard of don’t go out in the rain? Lots of kids on bikes crossing the street. Good time to study my Sociology textbook.
Page 233. Studying…let’s see, what am I studying…the deceptive fragility of the human psyche and the power of the ego in terrible decision making. Hm, sounds like an interesting chapter.
Are you serious? Bike frame mangled. Blood on my windshield. Oh. My. Goodness. So lucky it’s raining outside, kid. Blood is terrible to wash off this new paint. He definitely dented something. I can’t see it from the driver’s seat, but I know, he so dented something. If there’s a puppy under there too, I’m gonna freak out. Puppies are terrible to wash out.
I’m not getting out. I can’t see the mangle-child anywhere. At a stop light. Waiting. Waiting. I hear some shrill cries and weird noises from outside but it’s probably just sea gulls, or…yeah, sea gulls. Oh well, light’s green.
THA THUMP. THA THUMP.
That’s better, through the green light. Make my turn. Pull into the school parking lot. And there’s a guy pulled over getting a ticket, right in the parking lot. Like what, he couldn’t wait to get on the road to be a stupidhead ticket-getter. Look at him, all double- parked in a handicapped spot like it’s his.
I just shake my head and walk to class. I don’t know what happened to Americans and the road. Some people just don’t know how to drive.