Date: Saturday, May 16, 2009
Time: 9:30 AM EST


It's Saturday and there's excitement in the air.

Chris and I are headed to Washington D.C., the first of many stops on our nine-day road trip, to check out some architecture and Moroccan food plus a bellydancing show.  We'll miss Milo the cat, immensely, but he will be well cared for by a small group of friends and neighbors. 

With an iced-coffee in one hand, and our iPod in the other, I am thrilled to be leaving our small town for a change of scenery.  So is Chris.  And it's great to know that we'll arrive at our destination in about four hours. 


Time: 10:30 AM

Or not.  We've been stuck in traffic for an aeon on the New Jersey turnpike extension (just outside of Jersey City) thanks not to construction but to the douchebag drivers who insist on carrying out their own, illegal shortcuts. 

Although ample warning is given to all drivers about a lane closure in the form of lines upon lines of neon-orange cones, and their accompanying "Lane Closed" signs, we remain stuck.  Typically, these notices, in addition to the narrowing of a lane, are supposed to mean something to responsible and vigilant drivers.   But, this morning, a significant amount of them are taking the kind of reckless action that makes me believe that they're all suffering from a severe diarrhea attack. 

Slowly, the right lane narrows to a close and all are called to the left lane.  That means that those on the right lane are to safely merge into the left lane to ensure a relatively smooth flow of traffic.  And those on the left lane, including Chris and I, are to look-out for merging drivers and make room for them.  Well, at least after an "aw, shit" considering we have no idea about how long we'll remain in this little jam.

So we do.  And as the lane narrows down to nothingness, we simply accept that our trip is going to take a lot longer than expected.

Unfortunately, while the right lane is closed, the shoulder to its right remains wide-fuck'n-open.  This mishap is due to the asinine positioning of signage and cones. Nothing blocks a driver from accessing the shoulder.  Well, the law does, I guess.  But, really, who gives a shit about the law when there is a perfectly good, speedy, convenient route available?

Naturally, one driver after another begins to speed down the shoulder.  There is no need to pinch myself; I'm still in New Jersey, and these idiots have elected to create their own lane.  Inwardly, Chris and I are seething.  Why the hell are these drivers so much more important than us?

I don't get it.  But in an effort to respect my time, I turn up the volume on our stereo to drown out the road douchebaggery.  It works.  And soon enough, we begin to move at a faster pace than an inch per hour. 

Fantastic.

Up ahead, we witness countless rude shoulder rejects shove their luxury vehicles in front of courteous drivers.  It pisses us off, even from afar.  So Chris and I make a pact to keep these douchebags from cutting us off.  It is our way of giving shoulder rejects the finger and ensuring, you know, safety on the road for all parties. 

One douchebag in particular wages a battle with our tiny car.  Big mistake.  We're tiny-- not stupid.  And our Mini has an upper hand when it comes to speed and maneuvering techniques.  Does he really want to screw with us?

Apparently he does, yes.  So much so that his headlight practically plays tonsil hockey with our hood.  

Oh, really? 

I give him my Latin-death glare, noting his frustrated (or constipated) facial expression.  Not getting what he wants appears to be a heck of a challenge for him. 

Tough shit.

Meanwhile, other drivers are enjoying our battle from their vehicles.  They make room for us to inch to the left if needed or halt altogether.  How nice.

"No.  Nuh-NO!" Chris mouths to the douchey driver with a shake of his finger, and we slide ahead of him, laughing hysterically.

Karma is sweet.