Manual Not Included

Monday, as I was driving down the express way, I was cut off by a lime-green Volkswagen Beetle. Being cut off on the expressway, or anywhere for that matter, is not a strange occurrence. It is my belief that when drivers purchase a new car they neglect to figure out how to operate their turn signal. I say “neglect” because I can not comprehend why a person wouldn’t realize a turn signal is a necessity while driving. However, perhaps I am only inclined to believe such radical ideas because I was actually required to demonstrate my abilities to operate the turn signal during my driving test. Perhaps turn signals are simply out of fashion. After all, I, as a responsible citizen in a capitalist nation, must move with the times. If turn signals are not chic, I will be forced to rip the turn signal lever from my car in the name of fashion.

Obviously, the driver of the lime-green Bug was, in fact, chic.

I hit my brakes as the driver merged into my lane. Naturally, there was the initial moment of panic. I’ve often wondered if after years and years of driving you simply become blasé about maniac drivers. You begin to take it all with a grain of salt, punching down the brake pedal as you sip a Dairy Queen, peanut butter milkshake. It is a shame that I couldn’t have taken that approach in this case. It would have stopped me from gasping while my eyes bugged out to the size of comets.

After my shock had worn into a dull nervousness, I decided to merge into the right expressway lane (I used a turn signal). Much to my surprise, the driver of the Beetle decided to do the same. Furthermore, the driver failed to use a turn signal—again. Nervousness was quickly building into contempt.

I’m not one for road rage. It seems like a hazardous vent. I’d much rather spill angst into poetic devices and poisoned prose (much like right now). I was quite proud of the personal restraint I demonstrated as I was driving behind the lime-green Beetle driver. Why? Because, if I had been one to throw a high-RPM temper tantrum, I surly would have tracked down said Beetle driver after noticing that he was carelessly jabbering into the mouthpiece of his cell phone.

I doubt I need to explain the logistics of why talking on your cell phone, on the expressway, in rush-hour traffic is not a wise decision.

I decided to pass Mr. Lime-Green Beetle Driver. The icing to this story is that as I was gliding past, I looked over to see a tiny Chihuahua dog sitting on the Beetle driver’s lap. Appropriately, the dog was barking towards me and my car. I suppose dogs really do have a sixth sense. It seems that even they know that not using a turn signal is a dumb idea.