The Department of Motor Vehicles takes great pains to create long lines for us to stand in to obtain a drivers license. They want your experience at the DMV to be as painful as possible. They require you pass a drivers test with an emphasis on being A COURTEOUS DRIVER!
Thanks for disappointing them.
I can’t help but feel most of you must have enjoyed your experience at the DMV, because you obviously failed the courteous driver part of the test, and still managed to get behind the wheel.
I suspect the Department of Motor Vehicles must have had a busy day (an understatement) and (took pity on most of you), sentenced the rest of us to a lifetime of dealing with the rest of you, and knows they’ll never see any of us ever again.
Because… you will all be the death of the rest us!
Here’s why. Ready…set…go!
I was driving, in the fast lane—of a 40 mile per hour zone. Only miles away from my right hand turn—the only right hand turn in a ten mile stretch. I’m doing the speed limit; I’ve not seen a single pedestrian (on either side of the road) since the dawn of time.
Suddenly, in my rear-view mirror, up comes Speed Racer. Yeah that Speed Racer! Sans (his sidekick chimp) Chim-Chim.
All the drivers behind him (apparently auditioning for the role of sidekick), doing their very best monkey see, monkey do imitation; following and filling in what little space was left between their bumpers. Lets call it; six degrees (ah, inches) of separation.
It felt like the Indianapolis 500. Every car jockeying for position to get around me (with me trying to do the speed limit, and succeeding, but only just), as the car in front of me (being driven by that world famous, little old lady from Pasadena), appeared capable of doing no more than 40 mph.
She refused to get into the (SLOW) right hand lane. However; to her credit, she was doing the speed limit. So since I had to get over anyway—and would be risking additional passengers and certain death, because of possibly being rear ended—I reasoned; let the old bag stay in the fast lane. She’s nearly dead anyway, so let Speed, and his minions, expedite the process!
I looked to my right, flipped on my right hand signal, made my intentions known to all behind me—except those who were blind.
As luck would have it, a blind man (complete with seeing eye dog guiding his car, from the drivers lap) shows up in the slow lane, and who—up until now—drove like a snail. Question; do snails drive?
No sooner do I try to slip into the right hand lane though, and like a bat out of hell, he accelerated as if he were driving on the Autobahn. He became Tom Cruise in “Top Gun” feeling the need for speed. Like a transformer, his Edsel morphed into a jet, and he cut me off before I could get into the slow lane.
I think the DMV calls this rude, or is it road rage?
Once he passed, all the drivers in the cars behind me became impatient, and began to get over into the slow lane in hopes of passing me on the right hand side. As if I were the blame for their impatience.
I saw my right hand turn looming and floored it. I barely squeezed in front of the raging horde of impatient drivers whose cars had just got out from behind me in the fast lane.
I paid no attention to all the honking horns that greeted my arrival into, what they must have presumed to be, their lane. What did I care, hey, I’m in the lead now!
Ah… I mean, in the slow lane.
I’d done it, and just before my turn too. Only one problem; where in the world did this old geezer of a pedestrian come from?
Worse, why did he choose this particular moment to apparently enter the crosswalk with the use of a cane. Conclusion?
They call it assisted suicide by auto.
Thank you, so-called courteous drivers who failed the DMV test, but still became road warriors from hell in what will now be known as…Carmageddon!