This morning, on my way to work, I got stuck behind some bitch going EXACTLY 30 m.p.h. in a 30 m.p.h. zone. Now, WTF is up with that? 30 doesn’t mean 30, it means 35, minimum. EVERYBODY knows that.
And she was driving a Mercedes Benz C230 Kompressor. Kompressor means “supercharger” in the German. Supercharger, as in “I’m a gas pedal, press me hard, and press me often!”
Not this Speedball Clucker. No sir. She’s going 30, and not a speck over. And she slowed down as I got closer.
She’s lucky I didn’t pull her over, make a citizen’s arrest for driving like an old lady, and impound her car. I could use a Mercedes Benz C230 Kompressor. Who couldn’t?
Apparently, she couldn’t.
And these people that drive like this always, ALWAYS drive with both hands firmly on the wheel, staring straight ahead, as if it requires every fiber of their brain and body to keep the car pointed in the right direction. Move just one finger off the wheel, and the car may go into a sideways skid, careen up on two wheels, and tip over. You just never know!
I always wonder what is going on in the brains of these people. Are they drunk? Stoned? Medicated into submission? Depressed? Asleep? Overly literal in their speed limit interpretation habits? Addled? Or just plain defiant and independent?
Who knows? All I know is, they are slow and in the way. And so, I must make merciless fun of them. It’s what I do.