The transaction is simple. The state gives you a license, and you are expected to drive like you have both functioning hemispheres. As I drive along an orphaned highway adopted by the local boy scout troop, I feel like there is most certainly something wrong with this process. I admit that sometimes I drive like I'm in a Barbie corvette, but that's only when my ipod shuffles in the COPS theme on my stereo.
I am almost immediately infuriated by the sight of a gold buick, and even moreso by one with a left blinker that has been on for the last half mile. I understand that maybe driving is hard sometimes, but when you don't really get out much (and decide to take your biannual drive at 8am on a weekday): don't. Really, just don't.
I really do have a soft spot for shriveled little old people and adorable hobbit grandparents, but the moment they get behind the wheel and creep forward at a quarter of a mile an hour, we cannot co-exist. Worse (almost) is when you are stuck on a road with two lanes...a "slow" lane and a "passing" lane, and the two cars in front of you choose to drive side by side doing 20 miles below the speed limit. I imagine the two drivers talking to each other on their cell phones, air high-fiving through their closed windows and tapping their feet on the brake to the tune of Flight of the Bumblebee. When I bitchily speed past them, accelerating unnecessarily to let them know that I'm angry, these two drivers have the nerve to step off their brakes and look at me like I just have a car covered in bumper stickers advocating a pechant for buggery.
I'm not going to ram you, gravy-for-brains. But I am most certainly going to cut you off. Move to Iowa.
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