I recently almost had to lay my car to rest but managed to resurrect it by emptying out the contents of my bank account. The overwhelming joy this extra poorness gave me has brought on many a conversation about car related shenanigans, one of which I had last night at the pub with one of my friends.
On his anniversary with his ex a few years ago he let himself into her house while she was at work, cooked her an amazing meal for when she came home and then nipped out to buy a few bottles of champagne. When he got back he waited for her car to come round the corner and jumped out in front of her wearing very little, using only the bottles to hide his modesty. She was so surprised by this that she slammed on the brakes. Only she missed the brake, hit the accelerator and mowed him down.
He went flying, the champagne bottles knocked out one of his teeth and then his girlfriend ran over his leg and broke it. He then had to explain to the ambulance people – who assumed the “attack” was intentional – why his girlfriend knocked him down buck naked in the middle of the street on their anniversary.
I’m sure I was meant to be really sympathetic and concerned by his painful injuries but instead I laughed so much I almost peed myself. It’s dangerous to make someone guffaw that much when they’ve just consumed a large amount of liquid.
I drove down to Bournemouth the other day to pick up some of my belongings and marvelled at how lucky I was to pay so much money for the privilege of sitting in roadworks traffic (naturally with no one in sight actually working on the road) for hours on end. I’m not really prone to road rage and, although I don’t like being in a jam more than anyone else, I tend to just busy myself pondering the evilness of squirrels or the fashion faux pas of British pigeons. I also find great entertainment in the rage of other motorists who take random exception to all other cars on the road.
For quite some time I got stuck behind a particular car whose speed had been constantly fluctuating between 60 and 90mph. Every time I attempted to pass him he sped up and every time I tucked myself back in behind him his speed would uncannily reduce back down. He eventually got stuck behind a lorry so I was able to pass but he soon accelerated again to overtake. When he moved in front of me he cut me up with only centimetres between us to spare. The pettiness really made me giggle and I happily allowed him to match my speed when I decided to overtake him once more.
We then approached the actual roadworks where the dual carriageway reduced to one lane. The traffic merged one by one and we both quickly worked out that it would be my turn to merge ahead of him. There was no way he was going to let that happen. He kept his bonnet attached to the car in front, braking sharply and constantly to ensure I had no chance of somehow sneaking in. I saw no point in fighting for the sake of being a car length further ahead so I let him and took great amusement in his unwillingness to meet my eye in his rearview mirror. I shrugged at him and giggled and he spent the next half an hour sat in that queue having to avoid my gaze.
Now, dear reader, I cannot pretend I am not slightly proud of what I did next despite lowering myself to his pettiness. Even as I sit here now, days later, the grin on my face could outshine the sun.
When we set off again, he resumed his 60-90 fluctuations and I found myself starting to feel impatient. I sped up and came alongside him and attempted to get his attention. Eventually the traffic stopped once more and with me sat beside him waving frantically, he had no choice but to look at me. I wound my passenger window down and started pointing at his wheel. His curiosity got the better of him and he wound down his window to hear what I was saying.
“Oh phew, I’m so glad I’ve managed to get your attention!” I said. “I’ve been trying to tell you for an hour or so but never seemed to be able to keep up with you. You have a flat tyre!”
The guilt that flashed across his face as he ‘realised’ I was just trying to be nice was almost enough to make me feel bad. He thanked me gratefully and signalled to pull over so he could take a look. I beeped my horn cheerily, stuck my arm out of the window to give him a wave and zoomed off into the distance.
Sucker.
hello from the other side of the pond. yea how come you park in a drive way and drive down a parkway
Oh, my god… that, my dear, was a thing of beauty. I would LOVE to have seen it happen. MUCH better then the reaction I get when I respond to similar idiocy by blowing the offender a kiss… (always gets them enraged… and I laugh and laugh) -H.
Rude hand gestures, loudly shouted profanities, sporadic gunfire, these are the sort of things one expects to see on the road. But someone that coldly calculates their revenge and savours it days after? That’s some scary shit. You play nice in Canada now, they’re good people, if not a little slow.
That’s a very neat way of getting revenge on a poor driver! Will he work out that he was suckered because of his poor driving skills I wonder, or will he blame it on yet another ‘woman driver’ that he has come off worst against? It would be nice if it was the former but I suspect that the type of person who has the mentality to block in a woman driving behind them won’t see the fault in their own character. Ah well, makes for a good anecdote anyway!
Good work there! I hate them people that drive at 60-65 then as you go to overtake them they get a heavy foot and you end up doing 85+ just to get past…
I’m pleased to see so many of you have concocted your own rage revenge procedures… I don’t quite now whether to be proud of you all or slightly frightened. The kiss blowing technique is a definite winner – tried and tested many a time by yours truly. Generally I just try and be as nice to them as possible. People with aggression problems really don’t know how to deal with kindness. Hours of entertainment, I tell thee.
Nice one, perfect bitch!
I did take off in front of someone at a traffic light once but stopped accelerating at the 30mph limit. It was a taxi driver in a city. Silly man. Right up my arse. I slammed on the brakes and said I’d seen a dog in front of me. I got more abuse off his passengers than him! I don’t know if I’m proud of that or not, but to be honest, I’d rather he hit me at 30 than someone else at 50.