OK, asshole. I am not one of those people who hates SUV’s on sight. I actually occasionally rent one, especially when it’s winter. So it’s not your car. It’s you.
We’re both of us on the east-bound two lanes of an undivided 4 lane blacktop, average speed of traffic about 50 mph. I’m in the (narrow) left lane, meaning about 20 or so inches to my left is oncoming traffic, with a speed relative to me of about 100 mph. You’re in the right lane. Only not quite. Since you cannot, apparently, drive your pretty new Escalade all that well, you’re now taking up a good few inches of my lane as well.
OK, there’s a break in oncoming traffic, I’ll just pass quickly and be on my merry way. Only you feel the need to speed up and drift over a little further, making this all of a sudden a question of wether I will see my kids again. So I break. And, since you may not know what hell you’re doing to all us unfortunates sharing the road with you tonight, I tap the horn.
Oops - testosterone alert! Now is apparently the time to do away with the penny-anty lane encroaching - and commit to driving squarely in both lanes. What fun! no one will get by you now! It can’t be that much fun, though, since I exit the highway at the very next opportunity. I’ve learned a long time ago to pick my fights, and this very much isn’t worth it. Bye, asshole!
Only later that night, one of those things that makes it harder to continue doubting the existence of a supreme being, or at least a universe with karmic justice built-in.
Not-too-far-away mall parking lot. Hey, I recognize that shiny big red* Escalade! Check for the clever license plate proclaming that this is your Escalade in some kind of vanity plate leet-speak, check for the bumper sticker further confirming your asshole status* - we have a match! And this is just too beautiful for words: being the asshole that you are, you parked really close to the car on your right. - Hey, lets face it, you get out on the left, so any space issues on the right are someone else’s problem, right? And the space to your left is open. Mine, by the way, is a company car (emotional attachement = zero). I have some experience in the ensuing manoever, but I have to say, this night is my best work yet. If there are 2 inches between our cars it’s a lot. No way you’re getting in.
I go off to the bookstore, and almost forget about this. As always, it’s slim pickings, but after a good while I find a few books that may be worth my while.
Making my way back to the car, I see you standing there. It may be wishful thinking on my part, but you sure seem agitated. Anyway, I get in - and start reading one of my new books. It’s a little hard to focus, though, as it is kinda fun watching you from the corners of my eyes (and over the top of my book - depending on where you are pacing at the time). When it looks like you have made up your mind to come over and chat, I start the car. You walk back. I now enjoy reading with the AC running. After a little while, you come over again, and stand there like an idiot, working up the courage, apparently, to tap my window.
“yes?”
“can you move your car already?”
“Excuse me?”
“I’ve been waiting here for your car to move, so I can get in”
“Can’t you get in on the other side?”
“Um, no. No I can’t”
“Wow, those chevvies get bigger every year, huh”
“It’s an Escalade”
“Yep, that’s a big one too”
“Actually, they just parked too close to me. Can you move your car?”
In my younger years, I’d have gone into a whole discussion on the magic word, but being if not wiser at least older now, I merely oblige.
First, I check my mirrors of course, and adjust my seat, and check my seatbelt’s proper operation, and select an appropriate radio station. But, eventually, I drive off. Bye, asshole!
*Car color changed and bumper sticker not further identified, 'cause stuff lives forever on teh web
