breaking bad.

Bad drivers bother me. Why? Because they slow you down, cause casualties, and leave you frustrated in turn forcing you to act in an un-lady like manner. Giving the finger and honking the horn are a direct result of road rage commonly caused by people who do not know how to properly operate a vehicle.

"Why are you breaking?" Those are the first words I usually utter out of my mouth in the morning. Rage. Coffee in hand, Seacrest on blast, and my aggravation immediately kicks in. I pull up and give him the "What are you doing?" look. The words never really come out. I'm in LA, who knows what can happen. He could have a gun or a knife or worse, a potty mouth that can potentially ruin the rest of my day with one derogatory “F*** you.” You never seem to know. Bad drivers annoy me more than tardiness, unpolished toenails, and chewing with your mouth open. Tardiness, unpolished toenails, and chewing with your mouth open are all annoyances that can be fixed with one constructive comment. Problem solved. Bad driving is an incurable disease. It’s inherited. Bad driving adults breed bad driving children. Making a u-turn in the middle of the road, not knowing how to merge properly, and running a red light without hesitation. All genetic.

Being behind a bad driver is bad news, but sitting in a vehicle with a bad driver is just as awful. What’s worse is paying said driver. Not only have you lost complete control of your life not to mention your sanity, you are now forced to compensate this person for their poor judgment in lane changing.

Friday night. New York City. My roommate and I were all dolled up and ready for a nice night on the town. We hailed a cab, hopped in, and headed to the lower east side. The second the passenger door closed, he hit the gas. Off we went. He was in a hurry. He kept swerving to avoid hitting other cars. It was as if a cop car was chasing him and we were the innocent witnesses at the wrong place at the wrong time. What's the rush, I thought. I kindly asked, “Sir, can you please slow down?” No response. Continued craziness. “Sir, can you please slow down? You’re driving erratically.” Yep, I said it. Erratically! That was the best word I could use to describe this crazy person with a New York State driver’s license, which was probably purchased in a back alley downtown somewhere. “I’m not driving fast,” he responded. “You’re jeopardizing my life. Slow down!” to which he responded, “This is a $40,000 dollar car.” $40,000 car? I thought. I had no idea a Ford Escort was so pricey. I replied, “I don’t care how much the car is. My life is priceless.” We finally arrived at our destination all in one piece. We paid the man and slammed the door. Annoyed and agitated, yet thankful to be alive.