So it's raining in Jacksonville today, which means people lose their shit and forget how to drive. Here are some things I learned while being stuck behind these assholes in traffic this morning for two hours:
* I do not let traffic make me mad. It's frustrating, sure. But I don't yell at cars or beat on my steering wheel or anything like that. I've got an iPod with 11 days worth of music on it, so I'm set. I just want to get to work eventually.
But if there's one pet peeve I have about traffic, it's the jerkoffs who think they don't have to wait in line with everyone else.
Say you're in a lane that leads to an offramp, and that lane of traffic is backed up while the thru traffic lanes are flowing smoothly. Well I do what you're supposed to do, which is just get into the turn lane and wait. Well there's always a collection of impatient ninnies who think that they don't have to wait (they're usually in big stupid trucks or Escalades or minivans), so they zip up to the last possible place where they can merge into the turn lane and then bully their way in.
They wouldn't do this in a bank or at an amusement park. But in a car? Sure. Cause they're big and bad and have places to go and people to be rude to. Jerkoffs.
* A new trend I'm noticing, which is just as creepy to me as the memorial for a dead person custom sticker you see on rear windshields these days, is the family head count stickers.
Surely you've seen them. People are placing little cartoon representations of their entire family in the bottom corners of their rear windshields. There's a husband sticker, a wife sticker, a teenage girl sticker and a little boy sticker, for example. What's the point of this? To announce to the people behind you that you were able to reproduce?
This seems like revealing way too much information about yourself to total strangers and other assorted nutjobs who, you know, might like to know exactly how many people are in your household before they come in and rape you all. Why make criminals have to actually stalk you and study your every move when you can just tell them exactly how many there are of you with a simple collection of stickers?
* The Dale Earnhardt worship thing is out of control.