Road rules
As I was switching from right lane to left on the way to work today, a big ass truck was trying to make a left from a side street and heading for the same spot that I was.

I got there first.

That’s when the truck began flashing its lights behind me, cut into the right lane and sped up next to me.

I blew a kiss to the woman calling me an asshole and screaming out the window at me. My initial thought was that without the cars, this 100 lb woman is screaming at a 210 lb man. My second thought is that I think SUV’s tend to make women and short men more aggressive drivers.

I have been in many accidents, and not once has a guy given me any grief after the crash. We exchange papers and call the insurance company. No yelling. No punching. Just exchanging and leaving. I swear that road rage among women in SUVs is much, much higher than that of men (or people who drive normal sized cars), and I wish there were a study out there that I could check to see if I’m correct.

In my opinion, women in SUVs seem to think that the large hunk of metal that they’re piloting down the road is a part of them, and creates the “might is right” mentality on the road. “My car is bigger, therefore you get out of my way, as I am mighty! Feel my power! Fear my vanity mirror! Grrrr.

The issue that I see is that sometimes people forget that inside cars on the road there are people. And some of those people are completely fucking crazy. And no amount of height in an SUV is going to help when one of those crazy idiots follows them home and chokes the life out of them in their driveway.

Ladies, please do me a little favor and stop trying to make up for your lack of power at home by being assholes on the road. I’m just trying to get to work, which is hard enough.

Can’t we all just get along? Better yet, can’t we all just get topless?

Work Rules
If you want to borrow my time or expertise under the wire to further one of your projects, please try to follow these simple rules:

1. Don’t pass my work off as your own.
2. Don’t throw me under the bus by making private communication public via forwarding e-mail.
3. Don’t ask me to provide you with unlicensed copies of software so that you can learn to do what you currently say you can do by passing my work off as your own and throwing me under the bus.

No Rules
I spent 15 minutes on the phone with an MCI telemarketer, in a vocal selection that can be imagined as a Southern black man. I told him that my favorite places to call were Juneau, Alaska and Tahiti because the people of Tahiti have wonderful skin, and although I don’t really have friends there, I just need to know what the hell they’re doing up there in Alaska. When asked about my phone bill, I told him, “I don’t know 500? 280? My wife handles that.” When He tried to sell me a $55 plan, I lost my mind and told him hat I didn’t have $55, and asked if there was a $10 plan. When He said that I was paying $500, I exclaimed, “$500! $500! That’s crazy!” This loop ate 5 minutes of the call. Describing Tahitians ate a few more.

When I was running low on material, the telemarketer said the word combined, allowing me to act as if he said that he was going to come by. I told him to swing by before nine because I have to go to bed, to which he asked me to leave the door open. I responded that I never leave the door open and he would have to learn the secret knock.

“It goes knock-knock knock… knock… knock…”
“OK, sir if I could just tell you about…”
“Hold on, son. Repeat that back to me so I’ll know you got it.”
“knock-knock knock… knock… knock…”
“That’s good. I’ll know it’s you. Just be here before 9. I’m not one of those nuts who stays up all night.”
“Right. Now, if I could just sign you up for…”
“Sign me up?? Do you have any idea the kind of trouble that I’d be in if my wife knew “that I was using the phone?
“Sir?
“Big Trouble. See, I’m not really allowed to use the phone.”
(slowly) “You’re not allowed to use the phone.”
“No because I’m always calling Tahiti. Have you seen the skin on those people?”

And on and on and on…

I felt kind of bad afterward, but I hope the kid got a story to tell out of it. Yes, I told him to take me off of his list. Yes, I’m probably going to hell.

Posted in Anger, Cars, Work