I spend a lot of time in traffic. Way more than I'd like to. My commute is relatively painless. I know the routes, I know the back roads. I know if I want to get trapped like a drowning rat in a box in the hull of a sinking ship I can always go to rte 114 in Peabody and sit and await the Apocalypse. It'll come first before I make it to I-95.
Lately, I'm not sure if it is the nice weather, but people are driving extra turdy and it is really getting to me. I thought I would share some of my latest observations on the commute, and see if you all have had similar experiences. I already shared about the woman who drove like she needed help, and how when I tried to assist her she gave me "'tude." So we can add this in the similar theme, vein, motif, category, if you will.
First, the other day I was cut off by someone driving a Roach Coach. For those of you unfamiliar with the term "Roach Coach," it is a truck laden with equipment and accessories which makes it a rolling restaurant. A "Canteen" truck is another term used in polite society. Usually the back is all silvery and patterned with diamond shapes, and the drivers are fucking retards to begin with, in a huge hurry to get to their next dollar. Not really realizing that they're spending ten times as much on gas as they would be if they just parked it and stood still and allowed customers to approach them. So he's in the left turn lane, I'm going straight. He cuts me off and I beep. Yes, I beeped. And then he slows down to negative two miles per hour to irritate me (and the 8 million other commuters behind us) and flips me the bird when he finally turns right.
Nice.
Fuck him. I hope that his customers get botulism or salmonella poisoning and die, and the surviving families sue him into destitution.
Next are the people who pull out in front of me by jack rabbit starting, and then they slow down to negative eleven once they are in front of me. "Whew! So glad I didn't get hit by that lady! I think I'll just slow it down some now... how about to negative eleven? That's a good speed when the posted speed limit is 40 mph. Yeah." These people suck long and hard. The thing that irritates me the MOST from these folks is the fact that 9 out of 10 times no one is behind me. They simply have to wait a few millisecond until I pass, and then they have the entire vacant roadway to pull out into at their leisure. But no. They cannot wait. They are entitled to be in front of me. They are usually "Yummy Mommy" types, size 2 after four kids, in the Lexus or Acura MDX or Beemer Mobiles and they are entitled BECAUSE. They insist on cutting my ass off. Why? So they can get there before me. Wherever there is. Usually in Marblehead, it is to getting their nails done at a posh salon.
Nice.
Fuck them.
I hope their Vietnamese illegal alien nail doer lady jabs the cuticle too hard and they get some sort of horrible infection which renders their hands useless and handicapped forever. Maybe then they can hire a driver who knows the rules of the road while they sit in the back seat lamenting their poor choices in life and why the judge ruled against them in the lawsuit.
Next is the landscaping truck. The other day I was cut off by one of these trucks in Swampscott. None of the tail lights on the gianormous humongous obscenely big trailer were functioning, so I had to keep my distance and use my keen sense of depth perception to know when they were coming to a stop, or slowing down. I was behind these guys almost all the way to my office. And I decided, as with the lady who couldn't drive for shit, that I would follow them, and inform them that they suck the wool off passing sheep, and suggest that they get a clue and fix their trailer connections.
So I follow them, and they are working on a little side street near my office. They're all like Mexican or Guatemalan or something. Only ONE of them speaks any semblance of what I might call English. They get out of their big assed Ford Pickup truck, all eight of them, and I stop my car and tell them what the problem is.
I let the driver know, that I'm only letting him know this so that he doesn't KILL someone on the way to the next job or back to the shop. I let him know that I almost DIED because they don't know the blue plug goes into the blue thingie. He barks at the orders to some of the guys, and they set to fixing the connections.
Yeah, the Marblehead police would pull you over and what. Ticket you? Deport all of your illegal asses back to wherever it is you came from? Neither. No one would care. Except for me. The driver thanks me in broken English, and I feel I've done something somewhat nice, but deep down inside I know tomorrow some yahoo is going to hook up the trailer incorrectly again, and it will be same shit, different day.
Whatever.
No Fuck them for these guys... they're just trying to exist. I just wish they'd plug the right color cable into the right connector. My eight year old can figure this shit out. Why can't they?
Today there was a contractor in front of me with Marblehead business address and phone number painted on his truck, but New Hampshire plates secured to his vehicle.
I won't even get started on what kind of insanity this boils up inside my brain. I hate that shit. Oh. My. God. You cheap bastard. Register your goddamn vehicle in the state where your business is. You suck. And yeah -- a hearty Fuck You for ripping off my state. It isn't even like you live in a BORDER town like Haverhill or Salisbury or Douglas or Webster... you are in Marble freaking HEAD you bastard.
Oh, I need a drink...
My commute will be the undoing of me. I'm sure.
Doug is napping, and Geoff is trying to wake him up. He wants to go canoeing so badly that it isn't even funny. We stopped at WalMart and bought PFD vests for all of us. Geoff is wearing his. He's particularly excited. He really wants to go. Perhaps we will. Perhaps we'll wait. Either way, we'll probably have our asses run over as we're crossing the street.
Gah.
No comments:
Post a Comment