Driving Makes Me Go Over to the Dark Side

I think I have figured out the exact reason as to why I hate city driving: it brings out the worst in me.

And the worst in me scares me to death.

Driving facilitates the animal side of my being, the one pushed by pumping adrenaline and profanity, to step forth. I devolve into a wretched, vile person who spouts wretched, vile language at complete strangers while wishing them the most venomous thoughts. My sentences are peppered liberally with a vulgar, four-lettered labio-dental fricative word that can be defined as the act of engaging in "bow-chicka-wowwow." I'm not saying that I am a complete goodie-two shoes; I am an adult and am therefore prone to using curse words. Yet when I utter this particular word, I become detached to respecting fellow members of human society and therefore lose any remorse that I would have felt. This profane person is someone who I don't recognize when I am a mere pedestrian.

The transition from pedestrian to driver is a harsh one for me because I am generally respectful of others. I will open the door for you. I will say "excuse me" if I accidentally bumped into you. I will even warn you if the bathroom stall ran out of toilet paper. Yet when I become the driver, I can no longer cling to the ideals of "please" and "thank you" because, apparently, no one else on the road does. No, the mere thought of being considerate to me is as foreign as knowing how to survive a four-way stop.

These inconsiderate drivers expect me to zoom at one hundred miles per hour when the signs clearly state that my car should not surpass forty. As a reward for me having the gall to respect the law, they honk at my vehicle like an enraged goose, cut me off and salute me with their middle fingers. The knowledge that I was not in the wrong when they were drives me insane.

However, nothing, NOTHING, will get me more riled up than seeing someone switch lanes without using the turn signal. I honestly don't know how I have avoided so many potential life-ending car crashes when some idiot zigzagged from one lane to the next without giving any forewarning. I know people say to live life dangerously, but they probably didn't mean it to be taken so literally!

I must also point out that some of the worst offenders of the lack of utilizing this vital device drive upscale cars. In the endless parade of BMWs, Mercedes Benzes, Audis and even Acuras, it seems none of the drivers know what the turn signal's purpose is, much less how it functions.

(Also: what is it with those new Mercedes Benz logos? I see them plastered onto the front of the vehicles like an unfortunate squirrel that became roadkill, and their sheer size is set to rival a rapping mogul's bling-bling pendant.)

Thanks to these drivers, I get in touch with my inner philosopher and ponder one of the greatest mysteries of the universe:

Seeing someone who drives an upscale car and not use the turn signal  is like seeing a woman carry a Coach or Louis Vuitton handbag and have the gall to commit a fashion faux pas by sporting cheesy flip-flops.

I must ask why this is such a big deal to me. Why must I become such a hateful person when my fellow drivers spite traffic laws?

Perhaps this hatred stems from the possibility of jealousy. Maybe I only wished that I were half as valiant as those who dared to break the speeding laws. Maybe what is wrong with me is that I desire to own a bling-bling Mercedes-Benz and can't because I live within my means.

Or, maybe, I just want you to use the damn turn signal and not kill me.

Now, if you will excuse me, I need to take my Ford Focus to my bi-weekly meeting of Dark Siders Anonymous, driving. I would normally skip these meetings but it's karaoke night.

Barb the French Bean