The van dropped me off this afternoon and I headed to the library. On my way home I lost my E'ffing mind. Because what can push you over the edge if not a jaunt to your local public library?
I was a scant 2 miles away from home when I engaged my turn signal to exit. Contrary to popular belief, the world will in fact not split open causing the simultaneous deaths of all kids and birds if you let someone in front of you in traffic.
The Stegosaurus-sized SUV to my right made it abundantly clear that they had no intention of letting me merge by stomping on the gas and keeping pace with my car when they saw my blinker. Undaunted (and probably emboldened) by the paid off, 5-year-old vehicle I was driving, I continued to merge into their lane.
A brief aside: Upon moving to Houston a few years ago I realized that if you really commit to a maneuver behind the wheel, no matter how egregious or steeped in assholery, you're probably going to get away with it. Sure, sure, you'll see the extended digit of the person you wronged or see their face twist with rage at your stupidity, but this is usually short lived.
After exiting, the single lane I was in becomes two. The woman pulled up next to me but I chose to ignore her and stare straight ahead in my best Bitchy Ice Queen from Hell impression. I'm inching to the stop sign ahead, I am shortly to turn left and the SUV will turn right. Momentarily, we were to be out of each other's lives forever.
But that was not to be.
As I approached the stop sign, she jerked her vehicle sideways into my lane. Seen from above our vehicles would have made one very top heavy letter 'T'.
Something inside me snapped. I flung open my car door, threw on the parking brake and approached her vehicle.
In effort to avoid the longest post in Vanpool Chronicles history, tune in tomorrow for the conclusion of the "vAnnie, Thou Art Loosed" saga.