Morning Commute in a Small City

Let me preface this by explaining that I developed some serious chops by starting my driving career in LA – a city of 15 million. Nobody has anything on me there.

And it still looks like this at 2 o'clock in the morning... 

Sure, New York has 20 million, but - seriously? Most of the cars on the street of NYC are professional drivers – cabbies.

NYC Traffic

Private Citizens in NYC are afraid to drive their own cars, and no one but Trump can afford a parking space anyway. They don’t count.
In LA, every idiot can, and does, own and drive their own car. They take great pride in one car, one driver narcissism. Even couples who work in the same building insist on driving separate cars because it allows them to passive aggressively compete with one another every morning.

Now I live in a city of a little over ½ million. Don’t ask, that’s a story for another day…

On its face, you would think that would equate to little or no traffic issues. Oh, contraire!
Smaller population = significantly reduced infrastructure. Traffic is a badge of honor – it gives the impression that you are in a big city. Sheesh – everybody knows that perception is reality, right?
It really isn’t the congestion I have to bitch about though. It’s the incredible aggression with which people drive no matter what the circumstances.

It’s like they need to get out this intense drive (pun intended) to vent their aggression and assert their imported competitive driving skills regardless of the circumstances. It baffles and confounds me.
For awhile, it actually even just amused me.

But now I find myself inexplicably and uncontrollably drawn into the game…
I don’t play any video games. The last time I really got into one was a silly pre-evolution thing called Lemmings. My chops in that arena were cut on Pong for Christ’s sake. (yeah, I’m old, piss off)
Anyway – here’s the game…

You’re in two lanes of 40-60 mph commuter traffic. At 7am (no, I’m not going to add in the morning – you people really piss me off. Don’t you get redundancy of it?) A third lane is opening up on the right so you can exit onto an even faster highway.

Traffic isn’t that tight, you could easily slip in behind the guy in front of you and successfully reach your destination in the same amount of time. But noooooooooo…
That would be a pussy move, that’s what little old ladies do. You know you can do better! You put lard on your bumpers every morning.

Mind you – I was one of those mellow drivers that respectfully left a couple of car lengths between my car and the guy in front of me. I am smart enough to know that risking my - and everyone around me’s lives – just to get up by two car lengths will net no gain. I won’t get there any faster, BECAUSE THERE’S ALWAYS ANOTHER GUY AHEAD OF THEM. ALWAYS!!!

Oh yeah – that used to be me. Sit back and amuse myself with the pointless jockeying of the morons.
Not anymore – in the end – I was helpless to escape the call of the competition. I’m certain that – even though I honestly have not one facial hair – I am afflicted with an inordinately high level of testosterone.
I don’t engage in the swinging out and squeezing in at the last moment. I’m not that bad yet.
No, what I delight in doing now is staying as close to one car length behind the guy in front of me and fucking with the squeezer in-er.

When I see one coming – and you know instinctively who they are (even thought they think themselves oh so clever for never putting on a blinker to telegraph their maniacal intention) - I drop back just a few inches. Just enough that they could, conceivably, successfully complete their vile assault.

Then, just as the most subtle hint of sliding in catches my eye - (they always have a tell… a steely shift of the eyes is all they allow. Only neophytes actually turn their heads) –I speed up and close the space.
If they are foolish enough to start early and make more than one attempt, well, I praise them for making my day start with such a rush and fuck with the precision.

Oh the triumph, the ecstasy! Watching them nearly kill themselves correcting their trajectory and returning to their own lane… well, the feeling is indescribable.

Horrified Driver

My ultimate mission is to make them miss their exit for being such an asshole.

My triumph is winning the game – every time.

By the time I get to work I am gentle as a kitten, but filled with verve and all smiles.

I salute you, small-town wanna be aggressive driver. You make my morning commute the highlight of my day. Thank you.

CAVEAT 1:  If you use your blinker to signal that you need to come over like civilized person, I will graciously allow it.

CAVEAT 2:  I don't really want anyone, lease of all myself, to get hurt.  I take the bench in inclement weather... gotta let them have their fun once in a while, lest they give up the game and take my fun away.