Road Raging

I couldn’t get angry recently. I was ticked and short-tempered and even mildly peeved (so weak of a peeving that it can’t even be called "pissed-off"). This is death to a twentysomething or "Gen-X’er" (Douglas Coupland owes me a blow job for coming up with that term). My hipness factor is based on my level of anger. I’ve got some "Gen-X" "cred" in store, I can make all the references. I own a sparking Nunzilla. I know all the words to "It’s the end of the world as we know it (and I feel fine)" But, barring any sudden piercings or tattoos, I better get angry or turn in my copy of Reservoir Dogs.

I found a solution: my commute. I have to drive behind slow people who are doing everything in their power to stop me from getting to where I need to be. I’m pissed as hell.

A typical commute would be bad enough, but I drive past a hospital, which means old people and ambulances. "Hey gramps," I shout, "why don’t you drive faster, asshole. I’ll pay for the extra gas out of my paycheck every week, we’ll call it Social Security." But they’ve got to drive cars that are literally bigger than my apartment at speeds approaching. Sure they won WW2, but come on, that was 50 years ago. Since that time they done nothing but annoy me. Maybe I just got my cheeks pinched too hard at one too many family reunions last year, but I don’t think I’m being unreasonable for cheering during Logan’s Run.

And thinking of old people always gets me thinking of ambulances. They really chap my hide. Some asshole hurts himself while shaving and now my commute is upset. He doesn’t have to pull over, I do. He doesn’t have to swerve out of the way of some cowboy who decides that the ambulance "wake" is the perfect place to see how fast his SUV can go. So, it’s not bad enough that I’ve got some jackass you had to do something stupid during the 45 minutes a day I’m on the road. I’ve got another asswipe who won’t rest until he’s flipped his $40,000 "utility vehicle".

Speaking of blow jobs (Okay, technically we were speaking of SUV’s but I’m male, I was thinking of blow jobs). I think the guy who decided that SUVs were cool owes me a big wet sloppy one. While we’re at it, who ever decided to call them "Sport Utility Vehicles" should get in line behind him. Call me an old fogey, but I remember at time when they were called ORVs.

ORV stood for "Off Road Vehicle" which is what they were used for. If you drove an ORV into the city, you were a redneck or a fratboy or both. That was okay. I can deal with guys who either need their trucks to get to their mountain homes to write their manifestos, or who decide that the best way to enjoy the bounty of nature is to drive around spitting up as much mud as possible. What pisses me of are these suburbanites who brag about how they were able to get to work during that terrible blizzard. Guess what, dumb-ass, while you were driving your fucking strap-on to work, I was home – and already drunk out of my gourd. When it snows 3 feet you don’t have to go to work. You did. Dumbass.

I know I should try to look at it from their perspective. But I won’t. I’m right and they’re wrong.