Traffic Report

Standard

I write this in the most hushed tones and from a location that must remain secret for there are Forces out to kill me.  Kill me, I tell you.

Every time I’ve left the house this week, I’ve had to deal with drivers who were obviously bent on taking me out, assassins of the road.  Or maybe assholes of the road, same thing, really.

Are they on drugs?  Possibly, although, I personally have driven when I was so loaded I thought my hands were robot powered spiders and done better than these goons.  Are they zombies?  Their lurching progress implies so.  Are they zombies on drugs?  Again, maybe.

Secret Agent Fred and I were attempting to flee the Castro yesterday when we were blocked by a minivan more than double parked.  Sitting athwart 18th Street, it was more like triple parked, or at least 2.5 parked.  It’s possible the excess bumper stickers plastered on it had finally gotten to the driver.  Or “driver,” I should say.  It was less like an effort at parking and more like someone simply abandoning his car.

And today after piloting around other cars that made the streets a fucking slalom course, I was trapped by two drivers in a fight, possibly to the death, over a parking place.  San Francisco is a tiny place and parking is a premium, but even with my longtime experience, I was impressed.  The two cars (one was a minivan again.  That’s always a bad sign, I think.) were both sort of partially wedged into one spot while their drivers got out to better scream at each other.  I couldn’t get past, I couldn’t back up, because the car behind apparently thought this was some kind of street theater and as I sat there, I realized, “This is just how innocent bystanders get shot.”

Which is when a guy on a bike pulled up and yelled at the screamers that they were douche bags.  It was a perfectly correct assessment, but I thought “And that’s just what we need.  Encouragement.”  Encouragement or not, finally the minivan gave up and was going to retreat, but by then traffic was so backed up in both directions, he couldn’t.  I was seriously considering taking my phone out to play a hand of Yahtzee, but the driver behind me suddenly emerged from his coma to reverse out at top speed like he was Jason Fucking Bourne, followed by me and the minivan.

Just remember, when you come to San Francisco be sure to wear a flower in your hair.  And pack some serious heat.  You might need it.

Cars.  They’re only good as props for muscle pussy.  Amiright?

14 responses »

  1. Well, if there's any upside to any of this…it's that you've taught me a new word “slalom”.
    I'm so excited. Can't wait to try to use it.
    So thanks.

    I was, however, a bit disappointed to learn that it's not a Yiddish driving technique.

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  2. I hear you honey. When I bitch about the elderly in Bawlimore who will just stop their cars in the middle of the street so they can take a plate of cookies yup to someone's door, people tell me “Well, you're in the South, now.”

    Chalk it up to the full moon – its awfully close tonight, you know.

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  3. Def we need a ray gun for people like this & I add to the list the ones who forgot what a turn signal is for! My ray gun would make the assholes car vanish leaving the jerk or jerkette sitting on the sidewalk holding the dissconnected steering wheel and a sign quoting Wheezer :”too stupid for color TV”.

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  4. So…yesterday I came upon a grizzly car wreck, wrong way, one way street. I pulled through a small space between cops, fire trucks and ambulances in front of a funeral procession. Further blockades several blocks down. Turns out it was the funeral of a Marine that Westburough Baptist was picketing. Hundreds of motorcycle riding Vietnam vets on hand to keep the peace. I was caught for an hour with danger all around on MLK. I feel fortunate that I had got away without incident and I have Yahtzee on my phone too.

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  5. I've OFTEN suggested to Poodle that automakers should include a “horn” sound that says, “JACKASS!”

    Until then, I actually say “JACKASS” in place of the honk of the horn when appropriate!

    Like

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