Life Is A Highway

Driving within the five boroughs of New York is not what you want to do on a lazy Sunday afternoon, but it's something that I do every weekend ritualistically. And I can handle the traffic, the bumper to bumper obnoxiousness, and the barbarians of the road. This Sunday though, I traded lanes wth one gentleman, originating from Brooklyn, who would spawn rage in someone who was pushing a shopping cart.

I try to be very careful when I drive - always aware of my surroundings, checking mirrors, and turning my head to check the blind spots. So when I moved from the right lane to the middle lane on the BQE, in about 20 MPH traffic, I could see in at least two ways that it was an open spot. So I signal and turn, when I hear an approaching flock of angry geese. I instinctly swerve back to my lane, straddling the line now, and see in my mirror at a good length behind me, this ugly orange auto closing in, horn blaring. I wish I could have properly identified his car; I think it was a 1989 POS. At this point, several things race through my mind:

• This guy is an arse
• I've got plenty of room in the middle lane still
• This arse has a loud horn and also has brakes

So I conclude to move back to the middle lane with his melodic horn cheering me on.

Now my new friend behind me is visibly agitated because he hasn't yet learned to drive without large spaces in front of him in 20 MPH traffic, so he shifts into the left lane and attempts to cut in front of me. I think this worked in First Grade when we would line up to leave class and you cut the line to hang out with your friend, so I think he just wanted to hang out with me, maybe teach him how to drive. While looking for his opening, he slows down enough that he's leaving a busload of space in front. At this point, I'm thinking that this guy just has really bad depth perception. So I let him get in front, and he swerves rapidly over like an ugly neon orange motorcycle from Tron, and I take his place in the left lane to cover all the empty space he ignored. As I pass him, his car seems to be calling out to me: "Help me..." I fight the urge to wave goodbye to my new friend with the top of my finger, knowing that another slight distraction might not be good for him and his poor 1989 POS.

On another note, have you ever noticed that there are at least three universal hand gestures for cursing at someone, but not even one for "thank you?"