Road Rage

I don't endorse driving like a maniac, but yesterday I drove like one. It usually takes almost 2.5 hours to drive to Parentland but it only took 1hr 45 yesterday. It was because of this goddamn Kia Sportage, the name shits me for starters. Car names are getting dumber by the year. They must be running out of names. Anyway, the green beast came looming up our arse on Northbourne Avenue and followed us all the way home.

Nothing annoys me more than a jerk in a 4WD that insists on intimidating smaller vehicles, so I kept my foot down and stayed way ahead of him. On the Hume Highway it's 110 but I maintained a steady 120 to leave him in the dust. When we turned off to Boorowa, he turned too and tried to keep up. That road is deadly, so many tight curves and soft edges, not a place to hoon but he was pissing me off. He was so close I could see his huge dorky glasses and bad haircut. He looked like an accountant that's trying to be With It™. All the more reason not to let him overtake me. We were right on a bend and he decides he can pass me. But when he moves out I hit the floor and head off over the hill. Mwahahhaa. He catches up to me and looms so close I can see the blonde in the passenger seat drinking Diet Pepsi. He stupidly moves out again when a truck comes flying along so he has to quickly go back in again. Idiot!

Next there's some roadworks and we have to stop for a good ten minutes. He's drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and frowning. The lollipop guy tells us there'll be a delay and we say no worries, mate and have a good chat while Mr Sportage actually moves out into the other lane to see what's holding up the traffic. Jerk!

When we finally move off, everyone waves to the lollipop guy, or at least raises a waving finger on the steering wheel, but nooooo, not Mr Sportage! With that lack of respect for our hard-working council workers, there was no way he was gonna overtake me. There was an overtaking lane ahead, the only one between Yass and Boorowa, it was his only clear chance to get me!

So I slowed back down to 100 to lull his smug arse into a false sense of security. Just when the lane came up and he indicated to move into it, my sister screamed, "GO! GO! GO!" and we sped off again. Mwahaha. We'd foiled him for a third time. Seeing his indignant little face fade into the distance was a rush bigger than a dozen orgasms.

He tried to get back up to me and the speeds were getting ridiculous. But later we got stuck behind a slow truck with a horse and Mr Sportage caught up with me. Behind him was a Toyota Celica, fiery red and equally impatient. It was too unsafe to overtake, but Sportage did it anyway. He somehow got around me and the truck and missed an oncoming car by a whisker. It was ridiculous. Where's a cop when you need one?

But here's the kicker: as they went around us, Diet Pepsi Blonde actually turned around and made furious very rude hand gestures at us! That silly wench! That infuriating accountant! This was war now!

Me and the Celica eventually got round the truck, and Sportage wasn't too far away. The Celica had to carry the torch, because flushed with adrenaline as I was, the speedo was tickling numbers I never thought possible before, and I really can't afford to lose my licence. So it was all up to the Celica, and it did a stellar job of tailing Mr Sportage and shitting him off before eventually overtaking. Ahh, it was sweet.

Mr Sportage seemed to run out of puff after that, and by comparison put-putted the last 15 minutes before home. We were finally able to catch up to him. I noticed he had this shoddy advertisment on the back of the vehicle, on the spare tyre cover. It said SureVault Data Back-Up and a mobile phone number. Sweeeeeeet. So he wasn't an accountant, but Data BackUp Nerd was just as appopriate for such a tosser.

I convinced my sister to get out her phone and dial him up as we sneaked up behind him again and say:

"Hello? Is this SureVault Data Back-Up? Guess what buddy? I'M BACK UP YOUR DATE!"

Hehehehe.

But alas... they turned into the McDonalds before we could dial. Checkmate, Mr Sportage.

It was then I returned to my usual rational, safe-driving self. The drive back last night was quiet and slow and a thousand insects kamikazied into the windscreen. It's now so thick with tiny broken legs and wings it looks like the glass is shattered. And I'd only washed the car that morning. Bah.