Would you like mustard with that?
Before we get started on this blog I'll be upfront, this is a rant and a confession. Or, for you marketing types, we'll call it a blogging value.
First, the confession. I sometimes get caught up in road rage. Face it, if you're in the slow lane doing the speed limit and some defective clot is riding your tail even though the fast lane is open, you get mad. I get mad too. It's not like I'll motion the butt-heads to pull over so I can dovetail their nose to their ear, but I will admit that sign language is sometimes involved. In my defense I'm really trying to get better and not let it bother me so much. I'm even having some success. More often than not I'll pull over and let the idiots pass without so much as a glance. Still, other times that finger pops on up just like it had a mind of its own.
That's the confession and for what it's worth, I feel better. For the rant half of this blogging value you're probably way ahead of me. But, just in case, READ THE DRIVER MANUAL YOU GOD FORSAKEN MORONIC WORMS!
The occasional tailgater isn't so bad, we can't expect perfection from our fellow drivers and everybody gets stupid occasionally. But I'm not talking about these drivers. I'm talking about those who deliberately drive like buffoons. You see 'em, I know you do because they're everywhere. I saw one man who was driving through rush hour, talking on the phone, reading something in the seat, with a map unfolded and draped over the steering wheel. Dale Earnhardt Jr. couldn't do that! And more importantly, he wouldn't try. I wonder what NASCAR drivers would do if they passed a fellow driver on the backstretch and he had a drink in one hand, a hotdog in the other, and was driving with his knees? At the very least he would catch some sign language. More likely he'd end up in the emergency room with some freakish, foreign object story.
“Well gee Doc, I was in the pits after the race when a couple of other drivers walked up, asked me how I liked the hotdogs. Next thing I know I'm upside-down and having the wrong kind of sexual relationship with a mustard dispenser.”
It could happen, I even dream of carrying a squirt-jar of mustard in my truck, one of those big family size jars.
I've included the following link for your further enjoyment, I suggest printing a few to use as handouts.