Who Gave YOU A License?

Yippee it’s almost five thirty which means I get to leave work! Should be the most exciting part of my day (sad isn’t it) but instead I am dreading the excruciating ride home.

Oh in theory it should take fifteen minutes. In practice it takes at least double that.

Do you know why? Because someone gave YOU a license. And YOU can’t drive.

Allow me to take you through my ride from Fairfield to Milford.

I enter the highway at exit twenty four. There is a short strip of highway where people are both exiting and entering into the slow lane. I try to ease my car over to enter before the lane ends – with a signal, because unlike everyone else it is not too much effort for me to flick a piece of plastic. As I am politely signaling I am guaranteed my first poor driver of the evening who – while in traffic – will not allow me to merge.
Because he is going to get SO far IN TRAFFIC if my car is not in front of him. That must be his rationale. Totally reasonable and very polite. Merry Christmas to you too.

After finally nudging my way onto the interstate I join the mass of stop and go traffic heading northbound. This is expected and fine and okay until I pick up fool number two. This is one of my favorite types of poor drivers. The tailgater. Once again, may I remind you, I am in traffic.  And the fool is ten inches from my bumper.

Now why, pray tell, does this person think it is appropriate or advantageous to drive centimeters from my bumper with his aggressive lights blaring in my mirrors in TRAFFIC? We are NOT GOING ANYWHERE. No matter how close you are to my car, there are two hundred thousand more cars in front of mine. There is no conceivable way to go faster.

To add insult to injury, remember this is stop and go traffic, so I am going and then stopping. Gas, then brake. So as you tailgate me, you fool, you are pretty much risking rear ending me every time I hit the brake. And if you dare rear end me I will come out of that car like a puma and be all over you. Trust me, after a day at work, I am just looking for it. So get off my butt.

Proceed down the highway and reach exit twenty seven (tailgater is still present, I am still in the slow lane). Exit twenty seven, in case you do not know, is the entrance to Route 8 which heads to the valley. There is a fourth lane at this point that forms so people can all line up in there like nice little boys and girls and get on the entrance ramp.

But do you really think this happens? Um no.

Rather, fool number three in front of me will suddenly realize feet from passing the exit that OMGZ I HAVE TO GET TO ROUTE 8. Insert brake slam here. On a hill. On an interstate.  Coming to a dead stop, with fool number two - the tailgater - still on my bumper. Luckily my reaction time is quick enough that I avoid a three car pileup. Luckily fool number two is also paying attention. Fool number three remains a road hazard, dead stopped in the middle of the interstate until they can bully their way into the line that everyone else had waited patiently in. Fool number two has since cut into the center lane aggressively in front of another innocent driver and is off to risk a rear end with someone else.

Phew, I am home free till Milford. Oh how optimistic …

I continue to travel down the interstate until I meet up with the inevitable fool number four. The compulsive braker. No, there is nothing in front of him. No, there is no other car braking. No, I am not tailgating. No, there is no good reason why every five seconds he is hitting his brakes. Besides to irritate me and make me think the first five times that there must be a hazard ahead. At about time six I figure out it is just another fool and either aggressively honk my horn with the frustration of it all or change lanes. It depends what kind of day I’ve had.

By now I am in the construction zone between Stratford and Milford. The road is admittedly bumpy, which apparently makes it okay for fool number five to drive half in my lane and half in his.  I’m guessing that a bumpy road makes it permissible to ignore the lines that are painted on it. I didn’t learn that in driving school but I guess fool number five did so I’ll just have to go with it and drive ten miles per hour slower than him since there is no safe way to pass until the road gets smooth again.

At last we have reached Milford, which looks like Mecca at this point. I am anticipating my couch, my hot tub, my boyfriend and BOOM. Dead stop. And this time I mean DEAD.

Guess why?

Fool number six has decided to drive over eighty and flipped his car which now lies across at least two lanes. So all of us who actually deserve the privilege of driving have to wait in the mess fool six has created and endure another twenty minutes (at least) of day dreaming (by now night dreaming) about home. 

Unless of course, we get onto the Post Road …

So I do. Because I am impatient and I would rather be moving then stopped. I am not sure who put the idea in my head that if I got on the Post Road I would move. It is a parking lot. Thanks fool number six, thanks a whole lot.

I put up with the poorly timed lights, I put up with the slow speed of travel, and I am ALMOST home, one left turn and I’m on my street and BOOM fool number seven. Lucky seven. Yes, he is stopped waiting at a light clearly blocking my street. Yes, he could have stopped further back since there is a lane of TRAVEL he is BLOCKING. And by now I haven’t a shred of patience left. So I honk my horn. And fool number seven has the AUDACITY to get angry at me. Right as it is about to be war, the light turns green and I decide I would rather be home than dealing with a fool.

Finally I am safe in my driveway … and then the kids up the street fly by in their rally cars …
Oh Jeez … Here we go again