escape to insanity

To the woman in the green Honda Element on the bypass this morning:
Thanks for the angry glare. Traffic is rough in the morning, often slowing to a crawl for no apparent reason, and your harsh gestures help make it all worthwhile for all of us. It's just one of those things.

I know it was completely unreasonable for me to expect to change lanes. I'm almost ashamed of myself for needing to be in a lane that doesn't have a big yellow “Exit Only” sign above it. How dare I try to stay on the freeway instead of getting off at some exit downtown? The gall of some people, I tell you. So when I eased my Subaru into your lane, I can see how furious it must have made you to see another car embracing your section of the road. Those roads aren't made for more than one car, clearly. Maybe it's like Highlander for cars; there can be only one on the freeway at a time.

Pay no mind to my careful attention to where your car was at the time. Never mind that I carefully checked, several times, to make sure I wouldn't be cutting you off. That's completely irrelevant; I understand that no one may enter your lane ahead of you, and that you command a thirty-foot cushion of space in all directions around your car. See, that space between you and the white Buick ahead of you was just perfect for my little car, and I needed to be there. So thanks for the angry glare, and the sarcastic head movements. It shows you care.

To the guy in the black Mercury Grand Marquis on 35th:
Thanks for giving me the opportunity to listen to your music. Even though I was perfectly comfortable in my own car with my own stereo on, I'm grateful for your willingness to share your taste in music with those around you. I'm sure everyone within 50 feet of your car appreciates being given the chance to enjoy the delightful stylings of your favorite rap artist.

I particularly enjoyed the part where my car was shaking from the bass. Those custom subwoofers must have been expensive, and I appreciate every penny you spent on them. Were it not for your generosity, I wouldn't have been able to experience the wonders of losing my hearing for the duration of that stoplight, and each of the next four stoplights from there on. Thanks to your car, I received what almost felt like a full-body massage through my driver's seat, though that may have been my body attempting to run in expectation of an earthquake.

I hope you do well in your attempts to look “bad-ass.” I know the Grand Marquis is about as rough and tough of a car as they come, so you're well on your way to being a ghetto superstar. All you need now is a sticker across your back window with the name of your favorite rapper, maybe some of those fake bullet hole stickers, and some spinners. I'll let my grandmother and her friends know to upgrade their Grand Marquis in like fashion.