MOVE OVER, OLD MAN!

 

MOVE OVER, OLD MAN!

“MOVE OVER, OLD MAN!” yelled the driver of the red car passing me. He was right, I should get over, so I yelled back “I’M SORRY!”  When I changed lanes to give him room, I accidentally cut off a yellow car.  That driver yelled “GET OFF THE ROAD OLD MAN.”  He was right, I am old, and not the driver I used to be, so I yelled back “SORRY, SORRY!” and slowed down.  But when I slowed down, the blue car behind me had to brake hard.  He flipped me the bird, so I waved a wimpy wave and muttered “Sorry, sorry, sorry.” 

Everyone drives so fast these days, like they have to be somewhere in a hurry.  I used to be like that when I was young, before I had kids and learned to be patient. 

A black car came up from behind, passed me on the right, cut me off, braked hard, yelled “OUT OF THE WAY, OLD MAN!” and flipped me the bird.  That was the last straw.  I lost my cool and floored it. I passed the yellow, blue, red and black cars, yelling “SLOW DOWN, KIDS!”  My heart was pounding because I was terrified of road rage.    

I drove as fast as my car could go, cornered like a madman, and burned up all my fuel and tires.  I kept it up until the last lap, when I screamed down the straightway, got the checkered flag and trophy.  Champagned flowed in the winner’s circle.  The drivers who had cursed me now congratulated me.  Then we all took the bus home.  Too many crazies out there.