I hate being tailgated
not to be confused with the tailgating that goes on before the football game. Unfortunately this happens to me quite often on my hour-long commute to and from work. And it’s not because I’m not a courteous driver. I am most of the time. I move over whenever possible to get the heck out of the way. I may or may not routinely drive ever so slightly over the speed limit but for the most part, I just go with the traffic which generally drives way too fast. Don’t be judgin’, people!
But there’s always that one special driver though that has to ride my bumper. Even when there is nowhere to go even if I could get over, he/she will still ride my arse so as to push me along.
This was the case today on my way to work. I was in the left lane going faster than the cars in the right lane on the turnpike. There was no place to get over and the cars in front of me were going the same speed that I was. Nevertheless, there was Mr. Upmyarse trying to will me to drive faster into the rear end of the car in front of me. As I was giving him the stink-eye death stare in my rear-view mirror, I noticed that he appeared to be talking to someone. His conversation was quite animated however there didn’t seem to be anyone in the car with him. I became intrigued
which probably caused me to slow down a tad bid.
Who was Mr. Upmyarse talking to with such enthusiasm? It didn’t look as if he was wearing a bluetooth earpiece. And since he was so close, I had a pretty good view of the entire interior of his SUV and a close-up of his face. He didn’t seem to be ranting at me but he stayed right on my tail and boy oh boy was he going to town with his chat. His arms were flying with gestures aplenty.
Eventually, I had the opportunity to get over into the right lane so Mr. Upmyarse could move on to tailgate the car in front of me and arrive at his destination point six seconds faster than if he had remained at a safe distance behind me. As Mr. U passed me by, I noticed he was air drumming on his steering wheel and it became clear that he was not chatting but singing. He looked silly. Ridiculous even. What a weirdo.
Then all of a sudden the realization hit me. Throughout this whole episode, I, too was singing at the top of my lungs. Yes, my friends, while I was giving Mr. U the stink-eye in my rear-view mirror, I was singing like Streisand, belting it out like Martina McBride, serenading like Billie Holiday. You don’t think I looked as ridiculous as Mr. U, do you? I mean, I didn’t have those enormous hand gestures after all.
Don’t you hate it when your pot calls the kettle black?