Tag Archives | driving
So this morning I start my journey to Mordor, and no I’m not exaggerating when I say lately my commute is getting to be more and more like a Lord of the Rings quest. It started with construction blocking three lanes of traffic on a major parkway, forcing me to get off and on the ramps in an attempt to bypass the gridlock, which I manage with some success. Then maneuvering in and out of traffic because people here like to drive 30 miles an hour in the left lane while refusing to budge when somebody flashes their light as a signal that they want to pass. Which by the way is why nobody here flashes their lights, since most of us throw our heads back in laughter and completely ignore it when we see some blissfully ignorant fool do it. (For my part at least I always move to the side if I see somebody behind me looking like they just engaged a nitro boost.)
Anyhoo, I’m trying to get off the last parkway, and I’m stuck behind Grandma in the right lane who’s cruising at an easy 20 miles an hour, meanwhile the guy to my right in the exit lane is matching her speed, sees that I’m trying to get in… and refuses to let me pass. Talk about a tight spot.
So in order to avoid missing my exit, I SLAM on the brakes so I can get behind Mister Lincoln Navigator Who’s Too Awesome To Let People Through, then hit the gas again… only that’s when my car completely stalled, the display indicators suddenly lit up like a Christmas tree, and my life starts to flash before my eyes. I can’t accelerate beyond 30 miles an hour now, so here I am limping onto a busy intersection with the car stuttering and thinking “Oh fud me rice balls, I hope I’m not going to have to get my car serviced, that’s the LAST thing I need right now.” I managed to coast into a parking lot, shut the engine off and went inside a market to take a breather and grab some stuff for work, hoping when I came back the engine would be ok when I started it up again. Thankfully it was. Then, when I’m ready to back out, FOUR other cars decide to back out at the same time, meanwhile two more people driving fat as yo mamma’s SUVs plop their over-sized mass of metal right there, making it nearly impossible for any of us to move. Do they shift in reverse to give us more space? Of course not.
By that time I had lost any modicum of decorum and leaned on the horn for the rest of the way to work. I had enough.
All this, because some tight wadded schmucky mcschmuckbag wouldn’t let me through. You know, I think it’s time to get my ride fitted with battering rams and patriot missiles. Either that or just start learning how to drive a tank.
Oh, and for those in the know, you’ll likely recognize the name of Long Island being the sewage waste of fecal material shaped like a fish and located just east of Manhattan (and the rest of what passes for the REAL New York). One of these days I’m going to give a proper ranting of epic snark for why I utterly detest this filthy abominable land mass of vileness and perdition, but I need to be in the right creative mood. It really does require invoking every word in the dictionary to truly convey my deep seated rage and hatred for this despicable island and its mentally insane occupants, but alas I must save this lengthy diatribe for another day.