This Is Why We Can't Have Sound Radii, Ulnae, And Humeri

Oh, dear. I am going to have my arm in a cast before summer is over. It will not be from a clumsy accident. It will be from overuse. Due to shaking my fist at ignorant drivers.

I'm sure you've been noticing for quite some time that center lines, turn lanes, stop signs, direction signals, and speed limits are all simply suggestions. It's not like police are going to enforce their use or misuse. Drivers have grown bold. And stupid. Everybody except me, of course. Nobody can drive like me. I'm a master. A poster gal for road laws. If only everybody drove like me, the world would be a safe, congenial place, running on schedule. Like clockwork. All Is dotted and Ts crossed. People nodding and smiling, extending an arm. "After you." No boiling blood or gnashing teeth or rubbery arms from fist-shaking.

I swear I am going to start taking out my phone and fumbling for the camera and taking pictures of these doofuses on wheels. Then I will start a website like The Folks of the Devil's Playground. Shame, shame, everybody knows how lame you drive.

Today, aside from the regular crew of tailgaters and stammering stop sign starters and no signalers, I encountered two major offenders. The first was the Forced Merger. You know the guy. The one who KNOWS a lane is ending, yet he runs up on the right side, passing people in the correct lane, and expects you to let him in. Luckily we were not on the highway traveling at supersonic speeds. We were at the regular stoplight. Everybody knows the right lane ends. It is marked in paint on the pavement, and a sign hangs from the stoplight bar emphasizing that fact. Yet there he was. I pulled through when the light turned green, minding my own business in the proper lane, traveling at a constant speed. Forced Merger revved his engine. He took off at my speed. Darted half a length ahead. I continued at my constant speed. He could have dropped back and merged behind me. Nothing was there. But no. He kept driving at my speed. Wanting me to slam on my brakes and let him in. Because he was entitled, you see, having nowhere to go unless he hit his own brakes and merged behind ME, the rightful heir to that traffic lane. At the last minute, in a burst of engine noise like a jet upon takeoff, he darted in ahead of me. Then he had to immediately slam on his brakes, and me mine, because a WIDE LOAD pace truck was escorting a giant concrete girder through town. I know he saw me in his mirror, shaking my fist at him. For quite some time.

The second offender was the BEFUDDLED ELDER. You can never be quite sure what these types are going to pull. You just sense something is amiss. They are some kind of accident waiting to happen. Today's accident-in-waiting was a head-on collision. But first I must set the stage.

You know the kind of T-shaped stop where you wait to pull out onto a road? It looks sort of like this:
____________
                        <= old lady car
===========
____________
  \   \ | * ||   | / x /
        |    ||   |

There's the straight-on lane for people pulling out or pulling in off the other road. Then there's a lane on the right for those pulling out making a right turn, and a lane on the left for those entering from the main road. I was right there where X marks the spot. Making a right onto the main road. And what to my wondering eyes appear but an old lady (older than me) coming from the right, down that main road, and wanting to turn into the side road. Did she go to that asterisk to make her turn? NO! She turned into my section! The one meant for me to turn right! I suppose she went up on that concrete triangle divider thingy. Thank the Gummi Mary she missed my T-Hoe, and that there was not a line of cars waiting to pull straight out.

I might have BOTH arms in casts before the summer is over. I'm an ambidextrous fist-shaker.