To the Asshat That Cut Me Off in Traffic

I hope you step on a Lego

And now we know what I’d look like as a sex doll. (Background image by Freepik / Face by author)

The city I live in, just outside of Toronto Canada, has the highest car insurance rates in the country. The reason is that people drive like Mario Andretti on a meth bender. Drivers here have all the visual-spatial awareness of Hellen Keller.

I watch this car wreck of a shitshow play out on the roads, daily.

You name it, I’ll see it — every, dang, day.

Pulling a uie out of nowhere with no signal? Check. Running red lights like you get 20 points per light? Check. Crossing multiple lanes of traffic like you’re avoiding a banana in Mario Kart? Also, check.

Driving in two-way left turn lanes to pass all the people politely waiting, only to get stuck because two of you asshats did it in opposite directions so now you have to pull out into oncoming traffic to pass?

You guessed it, check (and thanks for playing along).

Yesterday I saw someone pull out in front of someone making a left-hand-turn at a light. Yup, playing vehicular leapfrog because they didn’t want to wait behind them, so they just raced in front of them and did a double-sized left-hand turn at the same time.

Then there’s the technically-not-illegal but reserves-you-a-special-place-in-hell move of driving 20-kms-per-hour under the speed limit in the passing lane.

And if people could get one car-length ahead in traffic they’d sacrifice their firstborn or grandma for those valuable nanoseconds saved.

It’s all very unCanadian.

This is in a country where we get into ‘Canadian standoffs’, where if you both arrive at a door at the same time, you’ll say ‘after you’ back and forth for roughly 87 minutes, until one of you has to pee. Then the loser of the standoff, who enters the building first has to turn around and thank the person. Probably while holding the second entry door, because they’d take away your citizenship if you lost that politeness battle twice.

I love driving outside of my city, where normal people are — and who are stereotypically Canadian polite. The difference is blinding. It’s like a driving vacation that restores my faith in humanity.

But today was not that day.

Today I encountered the Hans Gruber of the Highway, the human embodiment of Nurse Ratched of the Roads. An utter asshat in a hurry to get to the local university to teach Fuckery 301 (it’s an advanced-level course).

This particular arsehat clearly had only hours left to live.

He was behind me in traffic, and didn’t like that. While we played the might-as-well-put-it-in-park traffic game — I had the gall to let someone in front of me who was waiting to get out of a parking lot. He’d been sitting there for a while with nobody letting him in. This egregious display of politeness caused the Dipshiticus behind me an entire car-length delay.

I know, I’m evil.

Carpool Corleone clearly wasn’t having any of it.

Get out of the way — he has motherfuckering to do. Image by senivpetro on Freepik

After honking his horn, he swerved into oncoming traffic to the left of us, to play chicken with rather petrified-looking drivers. All of this without any turn signals, because we’re all supposed to know what his Royal Highness is doing. Thankfully the oncoming traffic threw on their brakes, avoiding head-on calamity.

Then Polpot of the Parking Lot forcibly nosed his car in front of mine. I could either let him in — or hit him.

I briefly considered hitting Speedy Sauron’s fancy car with my shitbox for shits and giggles. But saner minds prevailed.

Now, he was happily in front of me, although not entirely happy. I’m not sure what he was mouthing so fervently, but I assume it was a commendation for my heroic act of chivalry. Mr. Burns of the Boulevard even gave me a single-finger salute as congratulations!

As we both sat in traffic, I had time to contemplate my poor decision-making.

I had put him an entire car-length behind. Him, clearly the prince of a small country, urgently fighting through traffic to ascend to the throne and avoid nuclear war with a neighbouring warmonger.

Or perhaps I delayed him on his way to save a child dying of cancer, with a surgery he’s the only one in the world skilled to perform.

What if I slowed down and delayed him from leading his army to victory at the Battle of Stirling Bridge? Oh wait, that was William Wallace…and in Scotland, not Canada…and it was 700 years ago. I’m not sure what made me think of that, perhaps I subconsciously want Merging Michael Myers hanged, drawn, and quartered.

But perhaps Lane-Stealing-Hannibal-Lecter was on his way to wrestle the nuclear football from Kim Jong Un. Maybe he was rightfully upset at the added car length delay because it would cause nuclear winter for part of the hemisphere.

Oh, you’re not a kiddy-cancer surgeon, or Scottish knight, or prince, or nuclear-football-wrestler?

You’re just an exhaust-huffing pleb like the rest of us?

Then get in line, asshat. Wait your turn because you’re not the Queen of Sheba. If you’re not Moses, then don’t expect the road Red Sea to part for you.

We all have places to be. You aren’t a snowflake and you’re not unique or special. Your aggressive driving only delays and endangers others. Wait your god-damned turn like the rest of us worker bees.

You’re not special, you’re just an asshole (like the rest of us).

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If you were looking for some sort of lesson here, umm…don’t be a dick, use your signal stick? They’re there for a reason and these magical lights let other people know what your insane maneuver your Andretti ass is about to attempt.

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Thank you for reading my road-fuelled rant. I’m really starting to embrace my get-off-my-lawn and shaking-fist-at-sky era.

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