Wednesday, March 17, 2004

Outta My Way, Scumbag

I see stories on the evening news about road rage and I think, "You know, that could be me." I am by no means prepared to brandish any weapon more lethal than my middle finger (and perhaps the occassional loogey), but it frankly surprises me how personally I take the aloof, inconsiderate and sometimes completely oblivious behaviors my fellow motorists exhibit sometimes.

I've never been a patient person and I suppose I tend to act out when things aren't moving at my desired pace. That's certainly true behind the wheel. When I get stuck behind a salesman schmoozing a deal on the cell phone or a 17-year-old trying to apply make-up and drive at the same time, I feel a Hulk-like transformation. My brow furrows, my heart races, a scowl comes over my face and I am consumed with the need to race past the offending "driver" and articulate my distaste in some non-verbal way. If these emotions could talk, I'm certain they'd sound like Eric Cartman from South Park when his mom won't bring his Cheesie Poops. It's a tantrum, cut and dried.

I act like a three-year-old on the freeway.

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