Friday, November 10, 2006

In Which People in Traffic Think I'm Insane

Much like men who pick their noses at red lights, I forget that I'm not invisible in my car. Incidentally, I also forget this when I go our running, and so tend to put on whatever's cleanest, comfiest, and/or most convenient for the outside temperature. This has led to some pretty asinine color combinations, to include orange shorts, purple t-shirt, green socks. With black running shoes. And as DC is small, and I run in my neighborhood, I do run into people I know. None of them have commented on the outfits, but every once in a while one of the mendicants I pass does.

I don't tend to get road rage when I drive, but I do yell quite a bit. With the windows rolled up and the music on, so nobody can hear me. But I forget, I forget how animated I tend to be, and that when you are bellowing, it's not subtle.

Earlier today I was waiting to take a left onto 18th Street. The light had turned red, and there was a gap that I could pull through, and I was about to when man in a BMW obliviously rolled forwards to the car in front of him, thus closing the gap. I sat for a moment, and then, quite involuntarily, I snarled AAAAARRRAARRRGGGHHH! This man, this poor, innocuous man, I know he didn't hear me, but he happened to turn and see me, left blinker on, nostrils flared, teeth bared, claws gripping the wheel, mid-snarl. His eyes widened slightly, he raised his brows, tilted his head, and backed his car up to let me through.

How mortifying. How to recover from looking like an absolute lunatic? From snarling from the driver's seat like an angry Chihuahua? I smiled what I hoped was a sweet, normal-seeming smile, and pulled through his lane as quickly as possible, waved thank you, and fled.

I have this fear that it will be a Craigslist Missed Connection. To the Angry Growling Honda Girl: Chill out. Drink less coffee. Get some Xanax. Life is short.

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