I'm in traffic, rush hour naturally, because randomly at this time of day, I want fries. And they have to be a very specific branding of fries. There is absolutely no way of getting over to the far right lane coming off the highway, as the 2 right lanes are packed with undoubtedly more important persons than I. Well shit fiar 'n' save the matches, this'll be somethin'.
This particular branch of the ridiculousness that is the highway system here, only allows you to get back ON the highway if you botch up your reckless merging tactics and have to go through the light. I need to turn right at the light that the brilliant engineer has conveniently placed a mind boggling 50 feet past the off ramp. Remind me to place my left clutch foot rather forcefully in said engineers posterior should I ever cross paths with him.
Lucky me, my car is the size of a shoebox. I see a van trying to get to the far right from the middle, where I'm trying to get, so I slow down and turn my shoebox to move in where he's at and now was. Now, I'll be the first to admit I hate it when people block lanes because their ass is sticking out 3 feet over the curb from where they came from. I'm the one leaning out the window yelling, "You got 'bout 4 feet in front of you so whyn't choo just scoot on up there cowboy."
Moving along. I successfully get into the lane. Sideways. And am still, 100%, in the lane of my choosing. Now here's the part where I'm amused/annoyed/baffled at stupidity. This here road I'm fancy maneuverin' is 3 lanes with the far left of the road as the yellow, striped, don't drive here because 'we felt like paintin' yella lines here', that never seems to have a purpose other than taking up the street. That one. You know what I'm talking about. Although, it IS the width of a regular lane.
I've moved from the far left 'driveable' lane, to the middle, and have now perked myself within the visible lane lines. I of course smile and say 'yay' because this makes me happy as I am this much closer the mah delicious fries.
A Tahoe slams on it's brakes from the off ramp, tires squealing, most likely a following of squealing brakes and I'm fairly certain I saw a finger being flipped at me from the rearview. This tiny tiny man driving this very big truck is shaking his fist at me, bird intact and has dead stopped just outside the exit ramp, in rush hour, because I am possibly 1/4 of an inch over the line from my side of the line, in his space which has been predetermined by Big Truck Tiny Man Syndrome to be a minimum of 13.0351 feet in width . Now don't go gittin' yer gussie all up there half pint, your tiny head might explode and ruin my paintjob. I'm sure your vicariously sized vehicle will fit quite nicely in the 15 FEET OF EXTRA SPACE TO YOUR LEFT! *mimics PA system voice* If you'll look to your left, you'll see this fancy extra roadway we've cleverly disguised as a concrete wall. To your right, other drivers using only half the allotted space for your tank. If you have any further questions, get off the road. Thank you. Good day to you.
I suppose he was probably screaming a barrage of obscenities at me from his cramped parking space, because now he's decided to make an exaggerated curve around the back of my car, cept he was 'bout 3 feet from it, and didn't actually need to curve around even slightly. I 'spose he's one for theatrics, because as he's doing this, he's purposely glaring to his right, at me, whilst moving forward. To which I lovingly reply, "Don't you make eyes at me, boy! Me-n-you are gonna mix."
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