This morning I did something stupid and careless and completely out of character for me.
Some community college kid cut me off in traffic, twice, nearly causing an accident the first time, both times wearing a big smile on his face like he was proud of his recklessness and malfeasance, so I followed him to his destination and confronted him.
“Proud of yourself, you stupid, emo, Flock of Seagulls asshat?” I yelled, although I was certain the reference would be lost on him. “You trying to kill someone or what?”
“Fuck you,” he said unimaginatively. Clearly not an English major.
“Fuck me? Fuck me? Am I the one who blew through a right turn only lane and cut me off by six inches? Am I the one endangering people who had kids in the car two minutes before you pulled that shit? No, Depeche Moron. That was you.”
You should have seen this kid. His long hair was colored no fewer than six different shades, he had big white plugs in his earlobes, and everything visible was pierced. He was wearing eye makeup. His fingernails were painted black. I don’t know what the kids are calling this particular style nowadays, but let’s call it Daddy Never Loved Me And Mommy Turned Tricks For Fruit Loops And Won’t Somebody PLEASE Give Me Some Attention.
“Did you really just follow me?” he asked incredulously, like I was some idiot for doing so, which may in fact be true. “Jesus, get a life, old man.”
“I have a life, you ten-dollars-a-unit Shithole Studies major. And I’m trying to keep it in spite of careless bastards like yourself. Now run along to class before your mascara runs into your box of clove cigarettes, Jesus and Mary Chain.”
(This is the part where I really would like to tell you that I peeled out of the parking lot like a pimp but what really happened is that I put my Honda in “drive”, checked my blind spots, and slowly, cautiously crawled away with my hands at exactly ten o’clock and two o’clock on the steering wheel.)
Anyway, I never got out of my car because I realized nothing good would have come of that. I didn’t want to fight the guy, and I clearly wouldn’t have pulled this stupid stunt if anyone else were in my car. But I just needed the kid to know he doesn’t get to endanger my life and just drive off.
It was, as stipulated above, a stupid move on my part. I feel lame for having done it because you never know who has a gun in the car in Southern California and I could very well be writing this blog entry from the morgue.
Some community college kid cut me off in traffic, twice, nearly causing an accident the first time, both times wearing a big smile on his face like he was proud of his recklessness and malfeasance, so I followed him to his destination and confronted him.
“Proud of yourself, you stupid, emo, Flock of Seagulls asshat?” I yelled, although I was certain the reference would be lost on him. “You trying to kill someone or what?”
“Fuck you,” he said unimaginatively. Clearly not an English major.
“Fuck me? Fuck me? Am I the one who blew through a right turn only lane and cut me off by six inches? Am I the one endangering people who had kids in the car two minutes before you pulled that shit? No, Depeche Moron. That was you.”
You should have seen this kid. His long hair was colored no fewer than six different shades, he had big white plugs in his earlobes, and everything visible was pierced. He was wearing eye makeup. His fingernails were painted black. I don’t know what the kids are calling this particular style nowadays, but let’s call it Daddy Never Loved Me And Mommy Turned Tricks For Fruit Loops And Won’t Somebody PLEASE Give Me Some Attention.
“Did you really just follow me?” he asked incredulously, like I was some idiot for doing so, which may in fact be true. “Jesus, get a life, old man.”
“I have a life, you ten-dollars-a-unit Shithole Studies major. And I’m trying to keep it in spite of careless bastards like yourself. Now run along to class before your mascara runs into your box of clove cigarettes, Jesus and Mary Chain.”
(This is the part where I really would like to tell you that I peeled out of the parking lot like a pimp but what really happened is that I put my Honda in “drive”, checked my blind spots, and slowly, cautiously crawled away with my hands at exactly ten o’clock and two o’clock on the steering wheel.)
Anyway, I never got out of my car because I realized nothing good would have come of that. I didn’t want to fight the guy, and I clearly wouldn’t have pulled this stupid stunt if anyone else were in my car. But I just needed the kid to know he doesn’t get to endanger my life and just drive off.
It was, as stipulated above, a stupid move on my part. I feel lame for having done it because you never know who has a gun in the car in Southern California and I could very well be writing this blog entry from the morgue.
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