Tag Archives: road rage

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’23 A To Z Challenge – Z

I don’t hate everybody….
I don’t know everybody!
People are perverts….all except me – and possibly you.

One day last year, Dictionary.com reported increases in the number of look-ups for several words.  Some were political, like MAGA, and Antifa.  The research on them was understandable.  The word

ZOOLAGNIA

Had had an 1800% increase in research.

First, I had to know WHAT.  The Psychological Dictionary describes it as carnal attraction to animals.  Then I wanted to know WHY.  Just what, and where, had something occurred, that spurred an 18-times increase in interest in that term. Perhaps it was only one guy last month, and 19 this month, but still….  When I went back to double-check the exact definition, Dictionary.com no longer admits that the word even exists.

I never found out, and it’s probably just as well.  The guy at my last job who brought in animal porn, was convicted of raping his teenage daughter.  He tried to race me on my motorcycle from a traffic light and cut me off, with his full-size van.  Several years later, apparently someone knocked on his door, and then shot him dead.  It seems that someone hated him even more than I did.  👿

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Boring Fibbing Friday

Bored with your job title? Here are some really creative ones Pensitivity101 thought she’d share.
What do you think these are?

  1. BD Ninja – is Luthor Lothario in Accounts receivable. He’s got a wife and a mistress, but he’s also had sex with 12 other women in the last year.  There’s an office pool about when he’s going to die, and who, or what, is going to cause it.  Exhaustion is a strong candidate, right after ‘Angry Husband’
  2. Head of Schmoozing – Was the Baptist preacher who was the biggest reason that I stopped going to church. After a 30-minute, hellfire and brimstone sermon, he would race to the front door to glad-hand every parishioner trying to exit.  People just wanted to go for lunch.  Hell, people just wanted to go to the loo, and he was stuck in the doorway like a corpulent cork.

  3. Ambassador of Buzz – Would be Snoop Dog. A comedian talked about being on the same bill, and being invited into Snoop’s STAR dressing room after the show.  He said that there were six guys in the room, but seven blunts being passed around.
  4. Colon Lover – My proctologist. It wasn’t the most fun I’ve ever had, but it was way up there.

  5. Digital Dynamo – Is the rowdy road-warrior who races up the rapidly-reducing merge lane, cuts me off, honks his horn, and then gives me the middle finger. Were he British, I’d receive two.
  6. Wizard of Light Bulb Moments – Is the male hillbilly neighbour. He saw Chevy Chase’s “Christmas Vacation” movie, and wants to be just like his character.  It’s a good thing we live near the Niagara Falls Power station.  You can see his house from orbit.

 

 

 

 

7. People Partner – Is the term that Melania Trump wants to be known as, after the inevitable attention-span divorce.  She’s sick and tired of her Secret Service FLOTUS codename being, Orangutang Wrangler.

8, Dr. Fix – Is my hillbilly neighbour’s veterinarian. He has a sign out front that reads, “Have your dog spayed.  It makes them less nuts.”  She took her pedigreed puppy in last year, when she first got him, but this year she’s screaming, “You didn’t tell me that I couldn’t breed him.”

9. Captain of Multitasking – That’s our Office Clown Manager, Jack. Jack of all trades – Master of none.  So many projects started – So few actually completed. 😮   We’re thinking of taping him to his office chair, and force-feeding him Ritalin from a Pez dispenser.

10. Money Maestro – Is my darling wife. I’m glad someone is taking care of the bills.  I have all the financial credentials of a drunken sailor on leave.  I think she picked up her skills from that five loaves and seven fishes Bible story.

 

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Gods Of Asphalt

As a tribute to an online author friend, I’ve appropriated one of her book titles to describe one of my afternoon road adventures.

I left the daughter’s place, and headed for the Costco at the edge of town, to get gas.  I turned off the north-bound avenue, onto the west-bound one that will take me there.  A block ahead, a little Toyota Yaris is marooned at a red light.  I pull up beside him.

I was never much one for street drag-racing.  A 78-year-old man in a Kia Sorrento is not really the right equipment.  Still, I have good situational awareness.  When the light turns green, I do not linger long.  I was quickly a hundred yards ahead of him, watching him in my mirrors.  Soon, I could not only see him gaining on me, I could hear him.  Braaapp…. Braaapp!…. Braaappp!

It’s a standard – a manual transmission, with a gear-shift.  That’s rare.  I’m doing 70 in a 60 limit zone.  He passes me like I’m standing still, and races ahead, just in time to get caught at the next red light, where a street tees-in from the right.  Ahead of me in the center lane, is a single SUV.  Theoretically he should go straight ahead, but he’s got his left blinker on.  Just past the light, is a service-station.  He also wants fuel, but he’s going to be stranded out there until all the oncoming traffic, backed up at the light, clears.  I pull over behind the Yaris.

He pays attention to the traffic light on the cross-street.  When it turns orange, he starts to rev his engine – Vroom – Vroom – Vroom.  Well…. This is a Yaris – more like vrim,vrim,vrim.  When the light turns green, there’s a chirp – a little squeal of rubber.  The Yaris leaps forward about two feet – and dies!!  😆

My window is open.  I roar with laughter, and shout, “He stalled it!”  He must have heard me, because I got a V-peace sign waved out his window.  He quickly got it relit and soon we are both cruising at 70 again. I stayed in the curb lane for another two miles, until I reached one of the Region’s infamous roundabouts.  In fact, this particular rotary has the record of the most sideswipe collisions, caused by fools in the inner lane attempting to exit through the outer lane.  With my eyes firmly fixed on traffic, that’s where I want to be.

On the other side of the roundabout, the curb lane only continues for a block, to another traffic light, where it exits into a plaza, and the road narrows.  Cars are backed up from a red light, almost to the rotary.  I need to get over to the center.  Immediately upon exiting, I signal a lane-change, and slide a lane to my left, coming to a quivering halt inches from a Chevy.

The light changes.  We all move forward. I drive to Costco, and sit in another line to pump gas.

Finally, it’s my turn.  Actually, it’s a double drive-through.  I proceed to the forward pump, and someone pulls in behind me.  I start pumping gas, and all of a sudden – I have a PAKI in my face!

Do you know you cut me off back there at the roundabout?  You pulled in front of me and slammed on your brakes.  I had to stop suddenly.  You didn’t have to do that. You had lots of room to proceed.
ARE YOU CRAZY??
ARE YOU STONED??
ARE YOU ON DRUGS??!

I had lots of room to proceed – if I wanted to pull into the plaza, but that’s not where I wanted to go.  He should have learned a valuable lesson about roundabouts.  The guy in the outside lane gets the best spot.  The nerve!!  The utter gall!!  The absolute arrogance, to accost me (or anyone else) while pumping gas, because traffic didn’t work out the way he wanted it to.  He was in his mid/late twenties, driving a BMW.  I suppose that I should have been generous, and assumed that he worked in IT, but all I could think was, he deals drugs and/or pimps out his sisters and mother.

I know that a soft answer turneth away wrath, but ya wanna know how to really piss someone like this off?  Ignore them!  Show them that they are beneath contempt, and not worth your time or energy.  Doo-de-doo, doo-de-doo, pumping gas, pumping gas.  And they can’t even justify escalating the argument – or so I thought?!

As he started walking away, suddenly he turned back and….
You will pay for this one day.  God will judge you.  You will die and God will punish you for your actions.  You will not go to Heaven.  You know what you have done.
So you’re bringing God into this??  Now I’m scared.
You just keep talking.
No thanks.  You’re doing enough talking for both of us.
God will get you!  You can’t escape His wrath.

I didn’t know that the God business was going so poorly that He had to work part-time as a traffic cop.  When I was finished, I walked over to his car, and said, “Which god??  Vishnu??”
Huh? Wha?? Mmh, aahh…  You will answer to Him!  You can’t escape your fate!

I could make an old-time, Bing Crosby/Bob Hope movie out of this, a two-act comedy titled Road To Costco.  A local driver was recently charged with threatening three other drivers with a gun in one morning.  I’ve never been threatened with God before – at least, not like this.  Have any of you?  😕

 

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Hit And Run

BC Mountie

I was recently accused of hit and run – me, the most careful and courteous driver in North America…. well, in Canada anyway.

On December 27th – the last Thursday of the month, when senior citizens get a 10% discount – I took the son along to carry, and went to a pet-food store in a nearby strip mall, to get bags of cat and dog kibble.  I entered off the side street, and eased along the driveway toward the store, fourth in the line.

Looking ahead to my left, I spotted a parking space right in front.  Hooray!  Even for the son, those bags weigh 40 pounds each.  Just as I started to turn my steering wheel, a young mother exited the store with two little daughters, one about 5, and the other 2, in hand, and a tiny dog on a leash.  With her head down, and concentrating on them, she dragged them off the sidewalk and into the empty parking space.

I came to a stop.  Still without looking up, she marched them out past the ends of the parked cars, and into the driveway.  It was a good thing that there was no oncoming traffic.  The spot I wanted was to my left, and they were now crossing the driveway to my right, so I started rolling forward.

As I got about a third of the way around, still without looking up, she changed directions by 45 degrees, and started dragging the kids toward me.  I came to a stop again.  When she got within 5 or 6 feet of the side of the car – about level with the passenger-side front wheel well – peripheral vision must have alerted her to danger.  She looked up, saw me in front of her, and took a quick step back.

I waited for her to safely walk around the car.  👿  Suddenly, she exploded into profanity.  “What the fuck!  Where the Hell do you think you’re going?  You assholes don’t need to be in such a fucking hurry!”  I’m at a stop!  And nice language for impressionable young daughters.  Now, in the middle of a parking lot, she let go of the 2-year-old, and used her right hand/fist to pound her way down the body panels and windows, still screaming imprecations.

Well, that was interesting.  There was obviously no chance for calm discussion.  I’m crossways in the driveway, holding up cars that want to get in off the street, and now some that want to get past and out.  I (finally) rolled into the empty spot, and headed for the store.  “That’s it.  Just walk away and ignore me.”  She’s only angry because we’re not treating her as special.  As I pulled the door open, “I’m five and a half months pregnant you know.”  So that’s what set this off.  “I’m gonna call the cops on you guys.”

When we came out she was gone, and I thought the fuss was over.  We drove home.  I did a few chores.  A couple of hours later, the son was having a nap, and I was just thinking of having one too, when the doorbell rang.  Keeping the puppies from leaking out, I opened up.  There stood tall, dark and uniformed.  That entitled, emotional little bitch – she did call the cops.

“I imagine that you know why I’m here.”  I did.  “I’m here to investigate a collision in the parking lot at the plaza.”  I stopped him right there.  “There was no ‘collision.’  The only time my car came into contact with her body was when she stepped forward and assaulted my vehicle.”

They must teach new police officers a particular method of interrogation.  No-one could be that obtuse without training.  I explained my version of what happened.  “If you didn’t bump into her, why was she so upset?”  I am not psychologically qualified to give reasons why the sanest of us do the things we do.  “I don’t know – seasonal stress??  Parking lot rage?”

“She says she took a step backward.  If you didn’t bump into her, why would she do that?”  “She was startled!  She was frightened?  She was embarrassed that she’d put herself and her kids into danger?”  “She drove herself to the hospital.  If you didn’t bump into her, why would she do that?”  Really??!  With two little kids and a dog, she drove herself to emergency?  “She may have honestly thought that I’d bumped her, when she remembered striking my car.  Why would she make that claim?  My best guess is that she’s a drama queen.”  When I mentioned that she attacked my car, he asked, “She actually struck your vehicle?”  Yes officer, several times, quite hard!

The son had heard me talking to him, and came downstairs.  While I’d gone out to the car to get proof of insurance, he gave a corroborating statement.  When I stated that she might be a drama queen, he mentioned how she had screamed about being 5-1/2 months pregnant, and was going to call the cops on us.  He thought the incident might have been triggered by hormones.  There was a momentary hesitation in note-taking, as if she had also failed to mention these things in her statement.

He offered me once last chance to admit my guilt.  He said, “I guess if you thought that you’d actually bumped her, you wouldn’t have just driven off and left her?”  But I didn’t ‘just drive off and leave her,’ I went into the store and spent 5 to 10 minutes conducting business.  At no time did she follow me in, and in the presence of witnesses, claim that I had bumped into her, and what was I going to do about it.  When I came back out, she was gone.  “Uh, okay.”

Finally, he stated that he had to do an investigation into this occurrence, because there had been a formal complaint issued.  Since it had happened on private property, and no-one had been injured, (Then, why was there such a fuss raised??) no charges would be laid.

This is the third false accusation that has been made against me in just over ten years.  The son likes to watch dash-cam videos of accidents, often from Russia, ‘cause those drivers are CRAZY.  Perhaps it’s time to think about having one installed in my car.

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Southern Humor(?)

Southern Gentleman

Georgia

The owner of a golf course in Georgia was confused about paying an invoice, so he decided to ask his secretary for some mathematical help.

He called her into his office and said, “Y’all graduated from the University of Georgia and I need some help. If I wuz to give yew $20,000, minus 14%, how much would you take off?”

The secretary thought a moment, and then replied, “Everthang but my earrings.”

Louisiana

A senior citizen in Louisiana was overheard saying … “When the end of the world comes, I hope to be in Louisiana.”

When asked why, he replied, “I’d rather be in Louisiana ’cause everythang happens in Louisiana 20 years later than in the rest of the world.”

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Alabama

The light turned yellow, just in front of him.

He did the right thing, stopping at the crosswalk, even though he could have beaten the red light by accelerating through the intersection.

The tailgating woman was furious and honked her horn, screaming in frustration, as she missed her chance to get through the intersection, dropping her cell phone and makeup.

As she was still in mid-rant, she heard a tap on her window and looked up into the face of a very serious police officer.

The officer ordered her to exit her car with her hands up.

He took her to the police station where she was searched, fingerprinted, photographed, and placed in a holding cell.

After a couple of hours, a policeman approached the cell and opened the door.

She was escorted back to the booking desk where the arresting officer was waiting with her personal effects.

He said, “I’m very sorry for this mistake. You see, I pulled up behind your car while you were blowing your horn, flipping off the guy in front of you and cursing a blue streak at him. I noticed the ‘What Would Jesus Do’ bumper sticker, the ‘Choose Life’ license plate holder, the ‘Follow Me to Sunday-School’ bumper sticker, and the chrome-plated Christian fish emblem on the trunk, so naturally….I assumed you had stolen the car.”

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It’s Not My Problem

 

Normally, I’m Joe Niceguy, willing to go a little out of my way to help others.  Like Bart Simpson, I don’t give up till I’ve tried at least one easy thing.  I recently read an article by a female columnist about this.  I basically agreed with her – until she got to whining about motorists who won’t let other drivers in.  There’s definitely two sides to that story, but then, she’s the one who got all upset about people who claim that they are spiritual, and believe in God – but don’t go to church – as if one has anything to do with the other.

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She made me think of the times and places where you just can’t be nice.  You have to present folks with a problem to solve or they don’t learn nothin’.  Too many of them are too self-centered and/or dumb to learn, even when presented with a problem – but I keep tryin’.

When I first moved to this burg, you could hold street dances on the main road from my place out in the sticks, to downtown.  Nowadays, especially during that oxymoronic “rush hour,” bumper-to-bumper volume of traffic creeps along.

As I go down the hill from a set of traffic lights, towards the daughter’s place, there’s always a line at a stop sign at a side street, hoping to get out.  I occasionally let one, or two, into line, and then laugh at numbers three and four who think I’m going to sit there all afternoon.  If they went a block further, to the cross-street with the lights, they could get in.  Think ahead – without your ego and sense of entitlement.  It’s not my problem.

We left town the other day, and pulled onto the Superhighway.  A half-mile from the overpass bridge, there was a warning sign that it narrowed to one lane for road work.  A quarter-mile further, there was another warning sign, and yet, when we got to the spot where the right lane disappeared, drivers in the inner lane were cutting off drivers in the go-through lane.

I saw in my rear-view, a semi that couldn’t move over, since he couldn’t accelerate to match traffic speed, because yahoos were using the down-ramp, exit lane to the plaza, to rush ahead of him and cut back in, before cutting off more drivers up ahead.  I slowed my line almost to a stop and let him in, then snuggled up to his tail, and let the rest of the blind car drivers behind him figure it out for themselves. It’s not my problem. The fact that I didn’t get a wave, a flash of headlights, or a honk, soured it a bit for me, but I soon restocked my niceness.

A couple of blocks past the daughter’s place, the four-lane road narrows to two lanes.  Bumper-to-bumper, and at a complete standstill, I watched a driver come roaring up the inside, to the barricade.  Then, despite the fact that I couldn’t move, he bitched at me, because I wouldn’t let him in.  “My lane ends.  Where am I supposed to go?”  Exactly!!  Think it through!!  It’s not my problem.

At my Jeep-part line in the auto plant, there was a large chute next to my press where I dumped the cut-off edge trim and knockouts to feed into a grinder on the floor below, for recycling.  Because of increased production and normal deterioration, the grinder increasingly stopped working.

One day, the line’s material handler rolled over on his forklift and told me that the grinder had stopped working again, and not to feed the chute.  Then he disappeared.  I started throwing my stuff on the floor, quickly building up a huge pile.

My inspector/packer asked me why I didn’t just pull over a wire basket and put my scrap in it.  If I made it my problem, it would quickly become always my problem.  Worse, it would always be a problem.  If the fork-lift driver didn’t think to supply the basket, and objected to having to clean up the mess, he could complain to a supervisor.

Made aware of the mess, the supervisor could direct the maintenance department to get the grinder running. If maintenance couldn’t get the grinder running, they could pass the buck back to the supervisor.  If the grinder needed a capital budget for repair or replacement, the supervisor needed to chivvy management.

If I accepted responsibility, and performed the extra labor, none of that would happen.  It’s not my circus.  They’re not my monkeys.  My problem is that too many of these airheaded dipsticks don’t learn from experience.  Niceguys finish last.

Okay, now it’s your turn to bitch.  Come on, you know you want to.  Everybody works with or sees this shit.

True to form, I leave the old year with a rant, but I want to wish all of you the best in the coming New Year.   😀