Bad Drivers

There is a serious component to driver's ed that is not being implemented, or at the very least it has been forgotten. It is so simple, and yet people refuse to learn to do it properly—parking. It doesn't matter if the lines are slanted on a diagonal, straight, narrow, or wide. I rarely find a vehicle large, or small that falls in between the stripes on the ground. Why even bother painting the stripes in the first place? Chances are, when I return from whatever store I have been in to run whatever errand is on my to do list, there will be a super sized Suburban, or jacked up truck with a swinging steel scrotum sac parked next to me that has haphazardly pulled into the space next to mine. The wheels are always chalked sideways, never forward. The ass end is sometimes over the line, and in my space leaving a gap so small that my nine year old wouldn't be able to open her door much less me open mine. It is at this moment that I wish I drove a piece of crap car, so that I could release my aggression by slamming my driver's door repeatedly into the side of said behemoth. At the very least I'd love to have the balls to leave a nasty message, but I realize all that effort would be lost on an idiot like that, so I go around to the passenger's side of my car and climb over the stick shift cursing like a sailor. I used to drive a gas guzzling Expedition, but I knew how to park the damn thing, so I have little patience for those who don't stay between the lines.

Sometimes I park a mile and a half away from the store just to avoid the parking challenged. Doesn't matter. I'm a magnet for them. They see my tiny little Toyota Corolla and park next to me just to piss me off. I've gotten in the habit of trying to park against a curb, then at least one side of my car is protected. That doesn't matter either. The girls and I still wind up sucking in our guts in order to slide through the twelve inch crack that has been so thoughtfully provided by the asshole who could not manage to park between the white stripes on the ground. I used to park next to the shopping cart return...NEVER do that people, or you'll wind up with a scratch all the way down the side of your forty thousand dollar car compliments again of the thoughtful retard who can't hit the stripes on the ground much less the cart return, which ironically is usually constructed between the lines in the parking lot! 

I don't understand why some people feel entitled to park, or drive for that matter, in any manner they choose. Best I can tell, no one uses that little known safety device attached to the steering column—it's called a blinker, or as the UK more precisely calls it, an indicator. U.S. automakers could save millions by eliminating this useless gadget from their parts list. I just love playing that game (oh, you know the one), why is the car in front of me riding the brakes? 'Cause they're getting ready to turn, only you don't know which way because they aren't using the blinking stick so kindly provided for them by GM, Ford, Volvo, Lexus, Honda, and the list goes on. I wish I could carry around a bag of rotten tomatoes and hurl one at every jackass that doesn't provide a directional signal. I've seen people whose hands are too full trying to juggle cell phone, cigarette, coffee, and steering wheel; making it physically impossible for them to even reach their blinker. Call me crazy, but if memory serves me correctly, it takes two hands to operate a motor vehicle, not two knees. 

Clearly, I have issues when it comes to bad drivers! I just think people should exercise a little common courtesy when they climb into their rides and head off into the world—acknowledge me with a wave when I let you turn out of a busy intersection, use your turn signal well in advance of turning instead of at the last minute, or not at all, park between the lines provided in the parking lot, use your cell phone sparingly, or get a Bluetooth accessory, which will free up both of your hands, if people are passing you in the fast lane for god's sake move over, find your gas pedal when you pull out right in front of me, and finally, for the love of God, at least drive the posted speed limit! 

Rant over.