I hope you don't think I intentionally cut you off there, old chap. It's just that I have no choice in the matter. A bomb has been wired under the hood of this here car, which prevents me from safely alerting others of my impending arrival. The very moment I use my turning signal I will be blasted sky-high. You can imagine the headache this has brought upon me.
And my troubles do not end there, dear fellow. I cannot even resort to good old-fashioned hand signals. All four of these side windows have also been wired to a bomb (a different bomb). I assure you, the last thing I wish to do is to wedge my modest BMW in between two Toyota Priuses careening down the motorway at sixty miles an hour, yet this is the cross I must bear.
Who could be responsible for this, you ask? Well, I have my suspicions… my ex-wife perhaps. Lord knows she has the technical knowledge. But for now that remains a mystery.
I know I am a danger to be around which, as I'm sure you would agree, is a lot for a man to admit. Thus, it has become my habit to weave in and out of lanes as frequently as possible to ensure I distance myself from any nearby vehicles. It's not required of me, but one must do what one can.
Luckily, I have installed a dual exhaust system that sufficiently warns others of my hazardous presence. My goodness! I almost forgot to mention how I floor the gas pedal the second the stoplight turns green so that I may be miles ahead by the time others have realized the light has changed. Please, your praise is not necessary. This is the least one can do.
There's no doubt I have made my fair share of enemies on the road—of that I'm most certain. I have lost count of how many times I have inadvertently cut off other drivers whilst merging onto the freeway. For what it's worth, when I merge into the freeway now I make sure to drive well below the posted speed limit.
I have also discovered screaming, “THERE'S A BOMB IN MY CAR” proves rather ineffective, as people no longer listen to reason these days. So, I've learned to keep this sort of stuff private. Many a times have I found myself on the receiving end of an offensive explicative or vulgar hand gesture. I try not to allow it to bother me, but one can only take so much.
People always ask me the same questions: Why don't you buy another car? Why not use public transportation? Have you talked to the police? But I don't pay them any mind. Everybody seems so keen to fix other people's problems instead of their own.
This life of mine, I daresay, isn't for the faint of heart. I must repeat the Lord's Prayer every time I take the wheel of my car but there is a bright side to all this: I always get to my destination a whole two minutes faster. Not so bad if I don't say so myself.
Now, I bet you're feeling pretty guilty for flipping me the bird. Well, I'm all ears, ready for your apology.
Hold that thought—Some fuckface is tailgating me.