Driving Miss Crazy

I was born in New York City. I was raised elsewhere, but I'm a New Yorker. I have a 718 area code, my license plate is BXNYC. When I die, I'll be buried in New York City. Well, I don't want to be buried, I want to be blown up, but you get my meaning.

This one time, a friend and I were on this little shitsplat parkway linking Clay County and Laurel County, Kentucky, in the mountains of Appalachia. At one point, we passed the frame of a truck - no panels, just the frame - doing a smoky 45 MPH in the right lane. And there's a tollbooth halfway through. I've since heard that they tore it down, but when I was there in 2003 or whenever, it was still there.

So I pull up to pay my 40 cents, only there's a middle-aged lady in a car ahead of me. And she's handing over a nickel. And now a dime ... no, that's a penny, let me see if I have a dime. After 20 seconds, I'm laying on the horn. The lady continues to apply Euclidian theorem to her selection of currency. She thinks she has another nickel. Oh, that's a button. May I have it back please, dear?

After 45 seconds, I have the window down and I'm yelling such delightful bon mots as "WILL YOU HURRY THE FUCK UP ALREADY, JESUS CHRIST" and "I'LL PAY FOR BOTH OF US, WILL YOU JUST GET YOUR FORD MOTHERFUCKING FORD FOCUS OUT OF MY ONE AND ONLY PATH".

My friend was looking at me as if I had sprouted a second head (and not a good-looking head, but one of those genetic afterbirth things).

It was then that I realized that perhaps the way I drive is geography-specific. New Jersey drivers, Pennsylvania drivers and Massachusetts drivers all have their own distinct style of operational fuckery. Me, I’m old and feeble now, but I used to keep a handful of pennies that I bent in half with a pair of pliers in the ashtray, in case anyone cuts me off. All I have to do is pull alongside him and wham - hope you have touchup paint! I yell at people. I slam on my brakes. I follow people who need some justice. There's a million things you can do. Try putting an M-80 into the tailpipe of a parked car. Push it into the muffler with a coat hanger. Car starts, muffler heats up, about 15 minutes later, the metal is hot enough to light the fuse, and BOOM! I guess I'd feel bad if they swerved into a busload of kids, but these things happen.

I love New York.