“And don’t make me get out of this car and show you what ‘good manners’ looks like!” I threaten as I shoot him my most menacing look.
In reality, I have spectacular conversations in my head. I stand up for myself. I’m assertive. Cool, calm, and powerful. I tell them how it should be.
My latest imaginary conversation was with a woman who had perfectly coiffed hair and an overly priced SUV. On my commute home, I have to turn right near our house. This lane becomes congested during rush hour and causes a fairly long line.
Each day, as I sit and wait, I see cars that pull out of the right lane, move to the front via the left lane and then wedge themselves back into the right lane near the intersection.
I will remind you of a kindergarten law that I know stands true today.
And so I spend my time edging carefully forward so as to avoid leaving enough space for a car to weasel in. I pull close to the line so they can’t do that move-my-front-end-in-make-you-let-me-go-ahead-of-you trick.
But my favorite time is when I’m a few cars beforethe light and I see a driver pull up next to me in an attempt to wiggle into a better spot. And I slowly, deliberately look over at her, ever so cooly take off my sunglasses, and with power in my voice, I tell her, “Your time is not more important than mine. I did the respectable thing and waited my turn. You think you deserve to be before me? You deserve nothing. Now you take that sorry excuse for a status symbol, turn left and think about what a waste of a person you truly are.”
In reality, I keep my head straight and imagine all the things I would say, if I were tougher and lived in a state that didn’t allow handguns.