Internal Monologue

Musing upon my morning drive today, I feel compelled to share my internal monologue with you. Hmmm…if I were schizophrenic, could I call it an internal dialogue?

I had my usual jack-rabbit start this morning. Not. However, I had my bucket o’espresso, clear skies, not-so-crowded roads, and a song on the radio, if not in my heart. This good cheer did not last long, care of the moronic, thoughtless, maniacal, and completely self-absorbed fellow motorists. I do not imply that I am self-absorbed, mind you. Only they (from the Department of Them) are. Trust me.

As I made my left turn onto Sudley Manor Drive I correctly maneuvered my vehicle into the leftmost of the two lanes in my travel direction. Smooth so far. A large Toyota Tundra was in the right lane. Soon he was taking his half out of the middle, oblivious to the driver (moi) in his vicinity. I was not amused at the possibility of a large dent and long red Tundra stripe down the right side of my car. So I honked at him. And then the monologue commenced:

Saint Mari the Driving Savant (SMDS): “Yo! Dumb Ass. Put your freaking [I didn’t say freaking] phone down and put both hands on the steering wheel. Why don’t I have a bazooka when I need one?”

Less than 400 feet further on I encountered the next of many menaces to society. By “society,” I mean my personal well-being. As I approached the traffic light near the (substandard and entirely icky, off-putting) Safeway, the minivan in front of me slowed for the yellow light. She came nearly to a stop, but must have thought better of that law-abiding action. Instead, she stepped on the accelerator and sallied forth through the now red light.

SMDS: “Holy shite – can you believe that feckwittery? Why can’t I issue tickets?” [Looking right, I spied the Tundra driver, who had pulled up abreast of my car]…”Didn’t I tell you to put down your stinkin’ phone, you ultra maroon?!”

I had an uneventful left turn onto Linton Hall, little knowing that my Zen zone was about to end for the rest of the commute.

The Burqa Brigade took to the road in an expensive SUV. Now, before you start with your name-calling, hear me out. I have no problem with any group or religion. I have traveled extensively in many countries not based upon Judeo-Christian faith and traditions and I have enjoyed everything I experienced, saw, and learned. I may not be in a hell-bent hurry to return to some of these nations, given the current world zeitgeist, the thought of which greatly distresses me. Alas. I am a devoted supporter of religious freedom, except when it endangers society. By “society,” I mean me. Naturally.

SMDS [grumbling to herself]: “Ladies! Did you not flee your countries for the numerous freedoms this nation offers? I don’t expect you to dress as scandalously as a Kardashian (or a female middle school student, for that matter), but your chapeau obstructs your peripheral vision. By your lack of driving prowess [the SUV was veering over the center line with impunity], I gather that not only were you not permitted to drive in your motherland, but that you have not successfully completed driver’s training here. Unobstructed vision is a good first step in becoming an adept operator of motor vehicles. I won’t tell anyone if you abandon your headgear while behind the wheel. Trust me. Now, get the hell away from me and my car.”

The roadway expanded from one lane to two. While the BB wisely occupied the right lane, I carefully and nimbly stayed to the left and got out of their way. In my rearview mirror, I could see them continue their pinballesque (without bumpers) journey.

Before I got much further, a taxi zipped around the SUV, got too close to the rear of my car, then whipped around me to turn left onto Wellington. I totally lost any sense of humor I may have had regarding drivers who can’t stay in their stinking lanes. People! It is not that difficult to keep yourself between the lines – they’re well marked.

SMDS: “You IDIOT! Unless you’re driving a Fred Flintstone Mobile and you can see the road through the gaping hole in your floorboard through which you are sticking your stupid feet, you’ll see the road better if you look up and out. PUT DOWN YOUR PHONE AND LOOK THROUGH THE WINDSHIELD.” [By this time I’d finished my coffee and wished I’d made more. Damn.]

I made my way to the last obstacle on surface roads before I took to I-66E – the dreaded left turn onto Balls Ford. Since the merge onto the freeway was on the right, I remained in the rightmost of the two left-turning lanes. Silly me. Yes, there were trucks of various sizes in my lane, but I deduced that because of the volume of traffic, I would not have room to turn left from the other lane, then safely return to the right lane to get to the interstate. Other drivers clearly were incapable of making such a wise judgment call. Probably because they were glued to their damn phones.

I turned left and kept a safe following distance between me and the big tractor trailer ahead of me. Then a chucklehead driving a lifted Ford F250 believed that my safe following distance was a challenge to his manhood. Maybe he fancied himself a NASCAR driver (he had the stickers all over his truck to illustrate this). He sped up the left lane and whipped into the spot between the commercial vehicle and me. Forcing me to slow and drop back, lest I become embedded upon his trailer hitch.

SMDS: “Oh, for FECK sake. No turn signal! No concern for other motorists! [By “other motorists,” I meant me.] Are you blind or just STUPID? Let me grab my Stinger Man-Portable Air-Defense System from my back seat so I can blast you to that great NASCAR track in the sky. GAACCKK.”

PS – nobody around me would have cared or noticed if I’d taken my eyes off the road to grab and engage the missile launcher. They were all too preoccupied being preoccupied. Because, you know, driving doesn’t require one to pay attention to one’s surroundings or anything.

Concurrently with said F250-driving schmuck endangering society (you know what I mean by that) in front of me, I came under direct assault by a Nissan Altima behind me. This person wanted to move to the right lane to get to the freeway, after thinking she could use the leftmost turn lane to pass a car or two before doing so. As I tried to evade the F250, I noted movement in my rearview mirror: the black Nissan careened up the road and darted into the lane behind me, but in front of another semi. To avoid being crushed by the big truck, the Nissan showed no signs of slowing. I didn’t want to become a hood ornament any more than I wanted to be impaled on the trailer hitch in front of me. I had to slow for one vehicle, but speed up a bit to give the Nissan some room. Oh my aching arse. I channeled my inner Jackie Stewart and avoided a fiery crash.

SMDS: “SHITEFECKPISSHELL, you twatopotamus! Feck you and your kin! Damn you to Hades for eternity! You get the motherfecker of the day award, you oblivious, self-centered,COLOSSAL assweasel! SHITE!!!!!.” [This became an external monologue, as I would have burst had I kept it bottled inside me.]

Amazingly, I made it to I-66. In one piece, even. For a brief moment I was safe. That’s all that mattered. I still had eight miles of freeway to navigate. Egads. Other than the usual dimwittery, the first few miles were uneventful.

By usual dimwittery, I mean that I only noticed one person brushing his teeth, in addition to numerous texters. I didn’t see anyone reading a book, eating a bowl of cereal, or applying make up. This was a banner day! I did, however, notice a gorgeous 2018 Maserati Quattroporte. The vapid driver was clearly distracted enough by his cell phone AND his cigarette to pay attention to staying in his lane. I would have offered to take the car off his hands because it was too much for him to handle, but smoking… Ewwww.

I shrugged the tension out of my shoulders, turned the radio up, and motored down the highway. Until traffic came to a sudden halt. Now what?

There was an accident. They had even been courteous enough to get to the left shoulder, and law enforcement was on the scene. There was no carnage; no body parts strewn about the roadway. Nonetheless, FOUR lanes of traffic felt compelled to slow and gawk.

SMDS: “Oh, fer crying out loud!!! Holy crippity-crap, what on earth is wrong NOW? Dear Saint Apollonia save me! Why must I be surrounded by such numbskullery, such imbecility, such a herd of deranged lunatics??”

Had there been an a way to exit between where I got onto I-66 and where I had to leave the freeway to get to work, I would have turned around and high-tailed it home. I briefly considered motoring into the Rest Stop then continuing through the fence and wooded area to find a road heading west. Since I was driving my Commander of Industry sedan, and not Hunky Hubby’s BFT (or a tank), I thought better of that idea. I just paid good money for the 30K service, after all.

Today, I feel my biggest accomplishment was making it to work alive. No thanks to the nincompoops who plague society with their total inability to focus on safe driving practices.

And, by “society,” I mean “ME!!!”

4 thoughts on “Internal Monologue”

  • I just shared your driving blog with my daughter who got a good laugh out of it. She had just commented yesterday about some of the dimwittery she experienced on Hwy 101 on the way home. This entry of yours made her day.

  • Now that just made my morning! Love your use of words….wonderful pictures floating in my head now. Love it!!

  • Mari, I agree with you 110 percent. You need to have a heat seeking missile to take out the endless boneheads you encounter every day on the roads of northern Virginia.

  • Mari/Zelda …this is a daily dilemma faced by many but we don’t ( I din’t) have the wonderful ability to put it in such colorful form!!!!!! Love it!
    Thank you!!!!

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