Super Size Me!

I am driving in the right of two Northbound lanes of traffic on a hilly and winding highway notorious for police speed-traps.

The posted speed limit is 55 mph.

It is fast approaching rush-hour -- but not quite. There is still ample room between cars but the volume of traffic is rapidly increasing.

The cars in my lane are, inexplicably, going at least five miles below posted speeds; my only thought is, "Boy, life at home must really be good," or, dare I say, some of the drivers may very well be "Occidental?" Whatever the reason, my little brain, by force of habit -- as well as fear of tickets -- demands I use my blinker before moving into the left-lane to pass.

As an aside, I believe blinkers have come to represent a genuine modern-age relic. From my observations, I could very well be the last driver who actually still uses them religiously. Either, blinker technology is patently defective, or -- I hate to generalize-- my fellow travelers are simply choosing to not obey the law!

Every American driver should take up the challenge of successfully navigating the massive "intersection" of 610 Highway and US 59 in Houston, Texas at least once -- preferably -- before they die; it could very well be more perilous than bungee jumping with a rubber band. Maneuvering your way through this interchange is hard enough at 2 am, but to come away from the "adventure" unscathed -- as a "newbie" -- and during rush hour traffic is a genuine accomplishment.

It was on the concrete morass of this, the "Spaghetti Bowl," that I learned a hard lesson: use of blinkers is a sign of weakness. By activating the annoying clickety-click, you are signalling to everyone that, "I am wimp and would very much like to have permission to move into your lane. Thanks, and have a nice day!"

"Oh, really?," is the first-half of a nearly-universal reply.

This pitiful display is anathema to most Texans. By merely indicating your intent, the other drivers, acting as judge and jury, immediately convict (you of being said-wimp) and impose sentence; after quickly accelerating, the unspoken retort is:

"NO, you will NOT be moving into your desired lane. Bite me. I have an appointment with a Big Mac."

If I am wrong and this is not a conscious decision, then the mere sight of blinking lights must produce a Pavlovian response which forces (victimizes) the offending drivers to advance, thereby blocking your lateral movement. My independent (anecdotal) research, however, indicates there seems to be a positive statistical correlation between this rude behavior and cellphones, big hair -- and trucks. Singularly or in combination.

This is guaranteed: The day I don't use my blinker is the same day I get a ticket for not signalling my intention to turn or change lanes. Sorry, I digress ...

Going back to where we started, (after having used my blinker) I am now safely in the left-hand lane. I then begin to accelerate, moving past the slower drivers to my right -- making certain they all get a good look at my displeased countenance -- I am silently transmitting to each of them, "my time is valuable, too." (Those who are not oblivious to other drivers) will know better next time! Eventually, I settle into a "safe" cruising speed -- 5 miles or so above the posted speed seems to be the universal "rule." In this case, at 60 or 62 miles per hour, I am moving at an acceptable speed that is not too slow and one that shouldn't subject me to ticket and fine. The reality is that you never know.

My current beef is with those drivers who are then in an even greater hurry to speed past me. These guys -- a disproportionate number in oddly over-size trucks -- clearly don't understand or care for the well-established "two-second" rule for maintaining safe distances between cars. By way, of "making a point," some of them feel compelled to -- pardon my "french" -- ride my "ass." Well, it just so happens that this poor decision generally tends to, "chap my ass." (I really don't know what that means -- just sounds right.)

"Excuse me, insecure guy in the embarrassingly-large truck: I am already driving well above the posted speed limit in an area notorious for police speed traps! Now, you would have me increase my speed further on the odd chance I might -- might -- secure an opportunity to move over into the congested right lane full of "slower people" -- all so that you can rocket past me?"

MY knee jerk -- well, Texan -- response is to apply the brakes -- slowing down, thus, allowing the offender a little time to realize he has been adjudged guilty by ME.

"Slower Traffic Keep Right."

To be certain, this does not translate to:

"Speeding But Slower Traffic Move The Hell Over So I Can Break The Law Even More Than You Are Already Doing So I Can Git Me Some Beers And Fast Food."

Before judging ME, please do not forget -- in this situation -- If I were to accept his bullying and accomodate him by accelerating, I would probably be the first target of the police and dread radar gun.

I am not restricted by any mandated sentencing guidelines but punishment is generally the same:

"You will travel at an even slower rate of speed to be set by my NEW best friend -- the lady to my right --the one with blue hair who can barely see over her dashboard. The duration of punishment is variable; be it one mile or ten, we will travel together until you either find an avenue of escape -- or, until I get bored -- (or, you pull out a gun.)"

And waving your disfigured hand will generally not sway me. I can be a bit stubborn.

Oh, and here is a news flash:

McDonald's will still be open when you get there.