Wednesday, April 7

Moving violation

I'm driving home on 128 tonight, cruising, as usual, in the left lane. (I don't know why, but I just don't like to drive behind idiots in the other lanes. Also, I drive better in the left lane.) I buzz past one of the new "message in lights" boards on the highway and realize it now reads "Left Lane For Passing Only. $100 Fine." The hell you say. Since when? Where did we learn this? Because what is the point of having four fucking lanes if you're only supposed to drive in three of them? Or is the right lane for entering/exiting only? I want to see them enforce this rule around 5 p.m. -- when all four lanes are filled with cars at a total stop. I also want to know what the fine is for telling the first statie who pulls me over to blow me. Because I want to have the check ready by the time he gets to my window.

I'm still fuming over this ridiculousness when I attempt to make the turn onto my street -- I say attempt because it is blocked by three traffic cones. Now, they've been working on the same damn gas line problem for days now, and I know that the blockage is after my driveway, so I can turn down the street. I'm obviously not thinking clearly, because I decide to just drive over the cones. Thinking, hey, I'll flatten it, and that will be that. Um, not in my fucking lifetime. The cone gets stuck in my wheel. Stuck in my wheel. As in stuck. In my wheel. Firmly. Now I'm attempting to forcibly remove it (quietly, as the work trucks are approximately two feet from my house), but I am having no success. Apparently, you should not drive over traffic cones. Who knew? I run into the house to try to regroup and think this one out logically. Luckily, Jen and Pam are home, and Pam thinks this is the funniest damn thing she's ever heard, so she's more than willing to come outside and (stealthily) help me with the cone. I back up, she pulls. I drive forward, she pulls. I get out of the car and we both pull together. No dice. Now Jen is outside with the dogs, and she is laughing her ass off and insisting I take a picture of the cone sticking out of my wheel so I can post it to my blog. I pull some more and say, "This is not going on my blog." I get back in the car, back up some more, and Pam finally, triumphantly, pulls the cone out of my wheel. Then I duck walk the cone back down the street, trying to keep the crew from seeing me with the aforementioned only-slightly-damaged cone.

I swear to god, I may never drive again.

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