Monsoon Martin’s Open Letter of Grievance to the Drivers of Baltimore - Part Three
My exercise in road rage catharsis continues…
The Inconsiderate Parker. This is the narcissistic dick who patks athwart two (or even three! or four!!) spaces. Some Brits call them Parking Wankers (there’s even a hilarious Instagram page devoted to shaming such transgressors).
The People-Pleasing Courtesy Hound. Something between a doorman and a doormat. This is the driver who lets car after car go ahead of them in bumper-to-bumper traffic, presuming that all the drivers behind them are glad to cede the road. Sometimes they are almost aggressive in insisting after you. Disrupts the flow of traffic and doesn’t feel like kindness. Prepare to feel the wrath of my huffy, protracted horn.
Stupid-Assed Cyber Trucks. Self-explanatory, really. Every time I see one, I make a face as though I have unexpectedly eaten a mushroom. I have, out of decency, refrained from making you look at a picture of one.
The Turn Signal Disuse and Misuse Corps - aka The Misdirection Squad. This is a proud and ceaselessly creative group, comprising:
Drivers who seem to have forgotten that the turn signal is there
Drivers who give the turn signal a perfunctory flip just as they’re beginning their turn, helping no one
Drivers who inexplicably deploy the turn signal as they are about to commit an infraction noted elsewhere (e.g., the weaver, the zipper merge jagoff, and the middle-lane abusing shitbird)
The Bicyclist on a Rural Road, where hills and bends make it difficult for a driver to pass them. (In fact, I just learned that the typical hobby bicyclist is called a MAMIL—middle-aged man in Lycra—and I am here for the dismissiveness and incisiveness of this term.) Even worse: a pack of these grinding tryhards taking up an entire lane. (Yes, I know that bicyclists have a right to be on the road, blah blah blah, but they fill me with rage. I—with no hyperbole or histrionics—hate them.)
The “I Will Kill Us All to Avoid Missing My Exit!” Tom-Fool. This highway menace realizes at the last moment that they are in the wrong lane, so they cut across (however many it takes) lanes to make it.
Corollary: The Forking Idiot. This is when someone thinks they may have missed their exit, but they’re not sure, so they stop right at the crotch of the exit ramp. In extreme cases, this person will pass the exit by 200+ yards and then reverse on the highway or careen down the grassy knoll to take the proper exit.
Monsoon Martin’s Open Letter of Grievance to the Drivers of Baltimore - Part Two
My list of complaints continues…
The Unrepentant Off-Cutter. You cut me off by pulling out in front of me—so suddenly, in fact, that I have to apply my brakes vigorously. Rest assured, I will be applying my horn quite vigorously as well. This is particularly maddening when there is no one behind me for at least a quarter mile and that person could have waited 1.5 seconds, then pulled onto the roadway after me.
Related: my nana was a verbal wizard, especially when it came to traffic commentary. My favorites: “Where’d you get your license, Pep Boys?!” and “Blow it out your ass!” and “Get bent, ya crumb!” Maximally concise, yet breathtakingly incisive.
The Drivers (Riders? Straddlers?) of Motorcycles and electric bikes (and even scooters) creating their own lanes, flouting most traffic laws and generally behaving as though the rules of the road don’t apply to them.
The Zipper Merge Jagoff. Two lanes narrow to one. Plenty of notice. The sensible thing to do: stay in your current lane, then zipper merge in an orderly and civilized fashion. Instead, Turd Ferguson next to you is jockeying for position like it’s the Indy 500. Untwist your knickers, Turd. Do you really need to get there 2.67 seconds sooner?
Corollary: the shoulder jammer. In one of these zipper merge situations, there’s often a daredevil who decides that the shoulder is an extra lane. They zoom up, bypassing car after car, until they are thwarted by one of these Highway Justice dingleshits who feel it’s their duty to patrol the shoulder and block transgressors.
The Extreme Tailgater. Especially charming on one-lane roads. Where do you want me to go? I shall proceed at the pace I feel I can safely navigate. You can gesticulate and crowd me all you want. Also, your mom. Note: I often say “Hey, why don’t you just climb inside my asshole!” when encountering this situation. Another common yawp: “Get fucked, bumper humper!” (Disclaimer: I never said my responses to these rage-inducing driving behaviors is mature, advisable, or child-appropriate.)
The Distracted Driver. I have seen drivers engaging in the following activities whilst driving: texting, watching videos, eating, applying makeup, reading, playing cards, flipping through a large CD carrying case, yelling at children in the back seat, using a woodturning lathe, playing a video game, and sleeping. Shit you not. (Alright, shit you a little. I made up the lathe. But all others I have seen with my own two eyes.) How many times have you been behind a car at a red light and they don’t budge once the light turns green? In fact, how many times today? The frightening truth is that driving a potentially lethal weapon often garners the least focus and attention from drivers.
Related: When my “gentle nudge” beep comes out as a “testy bellow,” I look in my rear-view mirror as if to say, “What impatient pissypants has just breached the aural peace (and rules of etiquette) by sounding the horn so aggressively?” So if the person in front of me (at whom the nudge was directed) looks back indignantly, they will see me looking back indignantly and assume it was someone behind me.
The Red Light Optional Brigade. I have seen many drivers for whom a red light is a traffic convention from which they are exempt. And I’m not just talking about folks who see a yellow light, speed up, and careen wildly through the intersection. I’m talking about the light is RED RED and I’m watching agape as these speed demons just sail on through. I generally respond with “I guess he was in a hurry” or “slow down, speed demon!” or “muhhh-thaaaa-ffffucka.”
