“Move your fuckin’ new Cadi’ ya son-of-a-bitch!” That’s what I told the guy in front of me at the Shaw-n-Van Ness Citibank drive-thru ATM (actually, I just said it to myself but I’m sure the dude was getin’ the ‘vibe’ I was throwin’). This guy was driving a brand new Cadillac somethin’-er-another and he was taking to damn long at the ATM.
[Don’t ya just hate it when people decide to do a year’s worth of banking…at the ATM?!]
I really wasn’t pissed at the Cadi-man, it’s just fun to get pissed at somebody who’s driving a nicer car than yours. That’s really how I define my road-rage; what kind of car the person is driving.
It’s less about the other driver’s egregious traffic error and more about the person who did it and how snobish their car is.
So if somebody is driving a grossly oversized SUV or a Porsche and they are from say sixteen to sixty years old and don’t look like they can kick my ass, they are getting a tongue lashing; something like, “Hey ya Son-of-a-cock-fucker!”
Now, if the person is driving a midsized or a pick-up, maybe something cool but not self-important, I’m a little more willing to let driving errors slide. It’s not as fun to cuss out a like-car-owner – they might be a cool person who just ‘spaced’ for a second.
There is no way somebody in some arrogant-ass car is a ‘cool person’ or just ‘spaced’; they’re just a cock-fucker…right?