My alter ego
In real life, I am a very patient person. I have to be. I work with total idiots. Even when I'm internally calling you a jackass, on the outside I'm telling you that I think it's a wonderful idea to bring in your pet emu and create a series of postcards featuring your feathered friend.

But my dark side, my seedy underbelly, surfaces in one place only (other than this blog): my car.

Don't mess with me when I'm trying to get home from work. If you are driving the speed limit in the left lane, you're a jackass and I need to let you know by riding your ass and rolling my eyes at you and yelling "MOVE! MOOOOOOOOOOVE!!! Movemovemovemovemove!" I will even resort to passing you on the right if you do not cease and desist with being in my way.

If you are in front of me at a red light, and when the light turns green, it takes you more than a nanosecond to step on the gas, I will not hesitate to honk at you. Even though my car horn is more like a nonthreatening "Meeeeeeeeep."

If you are a truck, I hate you. You should not be on the same road with the rest of us. Do not attempt to pass me or it will infuriate me and my eyes will shoot laser beams at you.

If you are trying to merge, and there is no one behind me, and yet you speed up to get in front of me, I will wish a pox upon your family.

Braking, for no apparent reason, will get you a fine string of curse words that would make a sailor blush.

When did I develop this nasty driving etiquette? Rush hour. It can cause a nun to give someone the middle finger. At the end of the day, all I want to do is get home, and if you are in some way impeding my ability to do that, you are my sworn enemy. So look out for me tonight! I'll be the one firing thunderbolts through my windshield at unsuspecting drivers.