[I just felt the need for some sarcasm, that’s all]
driving-related annoyances
- Driving with your foot propped up on the dashboard, or your leg out the window – Why do you feel the need to do this? I don’t understand.
- People with handicapped stickers/placards on sports cars so tiny I bet even I could barely fit in ‘em – So where exactly do you fit your cane or wheelchair, if you don’t mind my asking?
- “Forget world peace; visualize using your turn signal.” I’m sure you’ve already heard this, and I think it’s great that you’re utilizing your turn signals. But, really, I can’t stop laughing at you for using the right turn signal to merge into the left lane. I’m sorry, but that’s just plain dumb.
- People who own fast cars and don’t drive them to their full potential – You constantly annoy me. Yes, I know I drive fast, but if I pass your Corvette or Ferrari on the freeway, I think there’s something wrong with this picture.
- Driving barefoot – You’re just weird, I say. Especially when you drive with your bare foot out the window. Tell me why this is necessary again?
- Stalking me on the freeway – This is not the best method for trying to hook up with me. Really. Not that I’m particularly interested in getting hooked up anyway. But whether you follow me for 15 miles or 30, you need to get a life. And stop waving your cell phone at me. Why the hell would I even seriously consider giving you my number? And even if I did (and I wouldn't), what am I supposed to do – scribble it down on a post-it pad and throw it out the window? Oh, please.
- Turn your headlights on, you crackhead, instead of driving in the glow left by other drivers’ lights. Conserving your own headlights won’t do jack for you – if I smash into your car in the middle of the night because I didn’t see it, it’ll be your own fault. Stop crying already.
- At the other end of the spectrum – If you drive one of those huge monster pickup trucks, turn off your high-beams, you jerk. If you’re a mile behind me on the freeway and your high-beams are still shooting through my back window and killing my eyes whenever I glance in my rearview mirror, I’m not going to be amused. After all, I don’t see any reason why I should be wearing sunglasses after dark; do you?
- I don’t think you should be madly flossing away while you’re driving. If I look in my rearview mirror and see both of your hands stuck inside your mouth instead of on the steering wheel where they belong, yes, I am going to freak out.
- If you’re one of those cute little old ladies driving at about 50 mph in front of me in the fast lane on the freeway, stop wagging your finger and throwing disapproving glances at me from your rearview mirror. I am going to smile in amusement at your lack of intimidation, and at your obstinate refusal to get out of my way, but it won’t stop me from tailgating you or finding other ways to get around your car.
- For all the guys who work at the gas stations where I periodically stop to fill up my car: Stop asking me if I’m Indian or Pakistani, Italian or Palestinian. Next time, I’m just going to tell you I’m from Zanzibar, and let you stay confused. (This goes for all you bank clerks and 7-Eleven people, too. But that’s another story.)
driving-related annoyances
- Driving with your foot propped up on the dashboard, or your leg out the window – Why do you feel the need to do this? I don’t understand.
- People with handicapped stickers/placards on sports cars so tiny I bet even I could barely fit in ‘em – So where exactly do you fit your cane or wheelchair, if you don’t mind my asking?
- “Forget world peace; visualize using your turn signal.” I’m sure you’ve already heard this, and I think it’s great that you’re utilizing your turn signals. But, really, I can’t stop laughing at you for using the right turn signal to merge into the left lane. I’m sorry, but that’s just plain dumb.
- People who own fast cars and don’t drive them to their full potential – You constantly annoy me. Yes, I know I drive fast, but if I pass your Corvette or Ferrari on the freeway, I think there’s something wrong with this picture.
- Driving barefoot – You’re just weird, I say. Especially when you drive with your bare foot out the window. Tell me why this is necessary again?
- Stalking me on the freeway – This is not the best method for trying to hook up with me. Really. Not that I’m particularly interested in getting hooked up anyway. But whether you follow me for 15 miles or 30, you need to get a life. And stop waving your cell phone at me. Why the hell would I even seriously consider giving you my number? And even if I did (and I wouldn't), what am I supposed to do – scribble it down on a post-it pad and throw it out the window? Oh, please.
- Turn your headlights on, you crackhead, instead of driving in the glow left by other drivers’ lights. Conserving your own headlights won’t do jack for you – if I smash into your car in the middle of the night because I didn’t see it, it’ll be your own fault. Stop crying already.
- At the other end of the spectrum – If you drive one of those huge monster pickup trucks, turn off your high-beams, you jerk. If you’re a mile behind me on the freeway and your high-beams are still shooting through my back window and killing my eyes whenever I glance in my rearview mirror, I’m not going to be amused. After all, I don’t see any reason why I should be wearing sunglasses after dark; do you?
- I don’t think you should be madly flossing away while you’re driving. If I look in my rearview mirror and see both of your hands stuck inside your mouth instead of on the steering wheel where they belong, yes, I am going to freak out.
- If you’re one of those cute little old ladies driving at about 50 mph in front of me in the fast lane on the freeway, stop wagging your finger and throwing disapproving glances at me from your rearview mirror. I am going to smile in amusement at your lack of intimidation, and at your obstinate refusal to get out of my way, but it won’t stop me from tailgating you or finding other ways to get around your car.
- For all the guys who work at the gas stations where I periodically stop to fill up my car: Stop asking me if I’m Indian or Pakistani, Italian or Palestinian. Next time, I’m just going to tell you I’m from Zanzibar, and let you stay confused. (This goes for all you bank clerks and 7-Eleven people, too. But that’s another story.)
Labels: Hit the Road
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