My drive to work takes anywhere between 55 minutes and an hour and a half.
Today on my way home, I was changing lanes, so I checked my mirror and there was a Mustang about 4 car lengths behind me in the other lane. As I turned on my blinker, I heard the motor rev up and by the time I was halfway into the lane, he was right on my you-know-what. I thought “man, what a jerk.” He laid on the horn, flipped me off, and started screaming and yelling. Then I thought, “honey, you need to calm down because you look like a fool.”
But hey, I get it. The drive gets tedious and DC drivers totally suck. I lose my patience more than I should on the roads — however, I have flipped off maybe 2 people in my entire life, and usually don’t get pissed when I’m the one that was driving like maniac. But whatever!
Probably 2 or 3 minutes later, I turned left at the light, with the Mustang still behind me. Once through the light, he got into the leftmost lane and stopped next to my car. (I was stopped at a second light, because, route 29.) He rolled his window down and screamed at me something like: learn how to drive, “you stupid f***ing c***!” and shook his fist at me. I honest to god thought he was going to get out of the car. He then sped off, cutting off another car and nearly slamming into the one in front of him.
Once it sunk in what had just happened, I thought I should get the license plate number and call the cops, because, hello psycho, but I only got 3 of the numbers. (If you know any chubby rageaholics with crazy strawberry blonde hair and a Mustang who drive on 16th street to Colesville Rd. at 5:30 in the afternoon, let me know.)
I was in shock that someone could get so angry over something that 1. was their fault and 2. was such a non-issue. I didn’t almost hit him. Maybe he almost hit me, IDK, but again, his fault. Siri texted Rick and told him what happened, so he called and made sure I was okay. And asked whose ass he needed to kick, but I recounted the too-slow-to-get-the-license incident to a disappointed sigh. Once I hung up the phone, I knew I was about to cry.
As I was sitting in my car crying, I couldn’t figure out why I was moved to tears. It wasn’t because some delusional stranger called me a bad name. It wasn’t even because I thought that delusional stranger may get out of his car and physically assault me. It was because I had this pit in my stomach and a voice in my head saying “that’s not fair.” Continue reading