My biggest pet peeve, besides the lack of good synonyms for “pet peeve,” is tailgating. There simply is no bigger douchebag move to pull on the road.
Driving in the Kennedy express lanes to Q101 this morning, I watched classic tailgating from a safe distance. A bald 30-something suburbanite with iPod earbuds plugged in was driving his red Jetta (girl car! girl car!) shockingly close to the pickup truck in front of him. This was aggressive driving, for sure; there was barely a hair’s width between the front bumper of the Jetta and the rear of the pickup. The Jetta’s brake lights were on the entire time.
From the right, I whizzed past the Jetta and pickup, taking a long, hard glance at the driver of the pickup. This was no fragile creature; he looked like a cross between Rob Zombie and Andre the Giant. I then started to fantasize about what would happen if the pickup driver were to hit his brakes. Surely the Jetta would end up rear-ending the pickup Then, once the cars pulled over, Zombie the Giant would get out of the truck and effectively make the Jetta driver s**** himself on sight. Taking my fantasy one step further, Zombie the Giant would punch through the driver’s side window of the Jetta and extract the tailgating weasel and beat him within an inch of his life. That task accomplished, the pickup driver would take the weasel’s wallet and leave him by the side of the road. Zombie would then get back in his truck, drive to the weasel’s house, and burn it to the ground.
The thing is, that could’ve happened. Had the Jetta driver hit the pickup or caught Zombie the Giant at a bad moment, his day could’ve gotten real bad, real fast.
I’ve argued about tailgating with friends of mine who proudly do it. Their arguments in favor are so short-sighted and ignorant, they throw me into a blind rage. Short of D.U.I., there’s nothing dumber you can do on the road.
The Jetta weasel will get his. And he should consider this blog entry his “I told you so” in advance.