Saturday, September 18, 2010

Dear Mr. Jackass in the white Impala on Watson and Mackenzie (who decided to follow us into the Taco Bell drive-thru)

Dear Mr. Jackass in the white Impala on Watson and Mackenzie (who decided to follow us into the Taco Bell drive-thru),

Word to the wise, if you're going to succumb to road rage.... make sure you're in the right when doing so.

Hey, we have all had that urge to honk our horns or even give the finger when another driver was encroaching into our sacred driving zone.  Hell, there are people who get into fisticuffs over such deeds.  Then there are some psychotics that will kill over a contested parking space.  And because of some weird, human condition in the deep sicky icky of our broken psyches such acts can be justified ... "Well, that guy did cut him off.  That's why he's got a bullet in his head now."  But it's when you act out your rage and it's clear that you are completely wrong, that you're just a dolt and should be sterilized so you don't create any offspring as dumb as yourself.

Which brings us to the reason for my post and this letter to you Mr. Jackass in the Impala. After crossing over the Watson and Mackenzie intersection, for some reason unbeknownst to myself, my wife and kids , you felt the need to tail us into the Taco Bell drive-thru lane.  Waiting to place our order, you felt the need to put your car in park behind us (in the drive-thru lane), get out and come up to my window and begin to spew your rant at me.  I wonder if the sight of the two kids sitting in the backseat of the car caught you off guard, for when I rolled down my window I caught your eyes dart back to them and then your demeanor changed slightly.  But still I could see that glint of road rage in your jackass eyes and you asked, "What's your problem, man?"  Completely confused by the whole unexpected moment, I thought to myself, "what the hell is going on here?"

"Apparently, I'm not the one with the problem.  What's up? " I asked.

"Didn't you see me back there?  I was going straight."

"Yeah?" I responded.

"Well," you said waiting for me, I guess, to finish your sentence.  "You were in the right lane."

"I'm not following your point, dude."

"You were in the right lane and you went straight."

I had to look back to the intersection, for a brief moment, to see if I was missing something.

Here's a little visual reference:

As you can see, reality was on my side, Mr. Jackass.  "Yeah, I was in the right lane.  It goes straight."

"No, that's a right turn lane."

"Uh.  No, it's not."

You looked back to the intersection too.  And without another word out of your stupid, ugly mouth you stomp back to your car like a kid throwing a temper tantrum.  I wonder if it was then you realized you were a schmuck.  Or was it when you got back in your car only to find other cars who were hungry for some Taco Bell had now at this point boxed you in the drive-thru?  Perhaps, the feeling that you were a dick crept in as you put your car in reverse and forced those said cars to back out so you can go on your jackass way.  I'd like to think that you really felt the swarming, schmucky humiliation when (I'm sure you did this) you doubled back to the intersection so you could find out just how much of a big A-hole you really are.  That's when you would notice this:

So, like I said... if your going to succumb to road rage, make sure you're in the right.  Now go get a vasectomy so you don't spread your stupid genes. 

Idiot Ballroom