I recently got a new job, which requires me to drive a lot further than I was before. I make a daily trek to the luxurious oasis of Pontiac (more about that in second), and in the process have learned an additional thing or two about driving that does not fall under any of the subheadings of your driver's ed textbook. First and foremost, extended periods of driving have only helped validate what I have always suspected...people are ridiculously ignorant. To watch a Honda Civic cross five lanes (of which only three are actually clear) and then veer back over two lanes realizing they "over-merged" never seems to be a shocking sight when I'm traveling through Royal Oak. I've developed a tick that anytime I must drive through downtown Royal Oak, I start shouting "This is stupid! This is gonna be so stupid!" I almost feel like people see a few bright lights, become overstimulated, and their brain collapses, causing them to drive like, in my mother's words, a "stupid bitch"
What I really want to complain about though is lane closures, or rather how people treat them. For instance, there was a lane closed on Woodward, and at least 1/2 a mile up the road in downtown Birmingham was a sign, in bright Take Forever To Get Shit Done Construction Orange, that read Merge Right, Lane Closed Ahead. Maybe if it said "Get over your dumb asshole" it would be more effective, but nonetheless, we are forced to deal with those drivers who go all the way down that soon-to-close lane, all the way to the cone and expect you to let them in. I never let them in. My philosophy when they try to wedge in is "You may get in behind me, but you sure as hell aren't getting in front of me". I try to get as close to the rear bumper of the car in front of me. Circling the wagons, I like to call it, and there's almost a sense of solidarity among all of us drivers who got into our proper lane at a proper time. It's that sense of solidarity that tells the other drivers "Fuck you...I'm mad at you, and I want you to suffer". It's a wonderful feeling.
I wouldn't let an elderly couple in the other day. They both flipped me off. It was rather off putting seeing those tiny little wrinkled, pale hands, with their small knuckles protruding from the windows of their powder blue Grand Marquis. I was so shocked, I just had to stick my head out the window and cuss them out and return the middle finger to them, all during a green light, effectively stopping traffic for upwards of 4 seconds. I do apologize to those other drivers for those 4 seconds they were detained in my rage. I hope they can forgive me, especially as it was a matter of principle.
I think this is a good point to make a Public Service Announcement (one I've made many times before): Yield signs are not optional.
I work in Downtown Pontiac, which if you ever have the choice to...don't. We are warned not to leave the premises on our lunch, that walking around the city is akin to rubbing yourself in pork chops and laying in a wolves den. I called their bluff and went walking one day, and was accosted and almost mugged by a disgruntled gentleman outside a deli (which I had to briskly jog to my car and reverse out into the middle of an intersection as he steadily kept coming at me). I have yet to venture outside the walls of Fortress Pontiac since (as I call my office). Though there really isn't much in Pontiac. There's a hospital, The Oakland Press (where I work), and a nightclub in an abandoned church....that's about it. It's funny though, I have to drive through Bloomfield Hills and Birmingham to get to work, and nothing is more depressing or apt at putting my place in the world in perspective than driving from my poor neighborhood through a cluster of insane mansions, to get to work in another poor neighborhood. It's always nice to be reminded that you're not that special.
I run red lights often. I don't count it as red unless the cars in the perpendicular road have begun moving. It already takes an hour to get home doing it that way.
A quick open letter to the train at 9 mile & Hilton: FUCK YOU!
I catch the train at 9 mile & Hilton at least once a week, if not more. I once caught it 6 times in 2 weeks, to which I literally almost did a U turn to go find the nearest asylum to check myself in and call it a day. What kind of moron runs a train through a congested road at 5 pm on weekday? What kind of materials are so critical that they must be moved at once during rush house at a glacial speed? I feel like I could move stuff faster than that train with a Radio Flyer Wagon and a pair of roller blades.
These are just glimpses of the fiery embers of my stomach, the result of driving. I won't agitate with you with the whole scope of it though, mostly because you already know everything I'm mentioning. I mean, you're out on the same roads as me, playing Twisted Metal with these mental midgets, so I don't need to tell you how frustrating and stupid it is, do I?
