Most people think I’m crazy when I tell them I love driving long distances. Seven, eight, even nine hours at a time…that’s something I look forward to. It’s hard to explain, but that’s when my brain tends to focus, which ends up being relaxing, until it isn’t.

It was pouring as we left Asheville, and the rain didn’t let up for the entire eight-hour trip back to D.C. I don’t have much of an issue with the rain. It’s the other drivers. And they ruined my eight hours of zen. So yes, I caved to the dark side..and for eight hours I plotted my revenge.

Here’s what I propose we do:

Secret drones armed with lasers set to evaporation mode on the look out for…

Left-lane sitters: You tend to have Maryland plates and a general look of cluelessness or befuddlement. At some point somebody told you that you were special, and entitled to the left lane regardless of your speed of travel. You’re oblivious to the 50 cars trailing, waiting to pass. You’re the type of person that sends all of your retirement savings to Nigerian princes promising untold riches in return. You also tend to drive INTO restaurants and gas stations, rather than through them.

Cell phone servers: You’re the consummate business professional closing deals on the highway and swerving erratically to make sure everybody knows how important you are…even if you die. I don’t care who you are. You can’t talk on your phone while driving 80 mph in the pouring rain through winding mountain passes. And you sound like a distracted idiot to whoever’s on the other line. Good job buddy, you just lost the deal. And your dead.

Turn-signal abstainers: You zig in and out of lanes without warning, because everyone should know what you’re thinking before you even do it. You also likely have Maryland or New Jersey plates. Here’s a fun fact: the turn signal in most vehicles is located within a finger twitch of the steering wheel. There is nothing, NOTHING, that a human being can do that would require less effort.

Passholes: You’re the left-lane sitter that suddenly becomes self-aware as someone attempts to pass in the right lane. You go from driving slower than your grandmother to Dale Earnhardt, Jr. in five seconds flat. None shall pass. And you revert to their left-lane sitting ways until the next passing opportunity arrives, all the meanwhile reliving the glory years of your gym-class-hero moments.

No headlights…no problem: Here’s another fun fact…you’re legally supposed to have your headlights on when it’s raining in most states. And even if that’s not the law (Arizona, for obvious reasons) consider it a common courtesy. Now, I understand that you’re not one to let the government tread on you with this egregious overreach. But consider this, nobody can see you…nobody. Including that massive tanker truck full of gasoline coming downhill alongside that other semi with a trailer full of bottle rockets. At least you’ll go out patriotically.

Truck drivers who think they drive Zipcars: I’m driving along, leaving a safe distance between the car in front of me, finally zooming along at an appropriate speed and harnessing my chi. Then suddenly and without warning a tractor-trailer veers into my lane forcing me to slam on the brakes or get pushed off the road Dukes of Hazzard-style. I get that you’re in a race to get to the next Flying J for an IV of Mello Yellow and maybe a trick in the shower…but seriously?!? Good thing you have those “How’s my driving” bumper stickers. And now I have plenty of time to call as your truck lumbers uphill 20 miles below the speed limit.


…Better yet, no drones. Well, still drones…just without lasers. Instead, the drones will identify the offending drivers and send out a jamming signal to reroute their GPS. These drivers will instead be directed to a desolate desert post-apocalyptic landscape (of course they won’t notice along the way). Once there they’ll be forced into brutal road gangs marauding the landscape looking for oil or water…that is until the Road Warrior gets them.

Mad Max Explosion







Or at the very least…just move over.

Tags : bad driversNorth CarolinaRoad Trip
Kris Ankarlo

The author Kris Ankarlo

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