Surrounded by Idiots, Part One

So you're driving. You're toodling up the ramp, aiming for the highway. Maybe it's 95 in Burlington. Maybe it's 495 at Woburn Street in Lowell. Maybe it's 93 in Stoneham.

But you're toodling. And you're in Massachusetts. What's worse, you're FROM Massachusetts. And what's even WORSE WORSE, you were BORN in Massachusetts.

So, as you're toodling, what's going through your head is this:

I am driving.

I am from Massachusetts.

I was BORN in Massachusetts.

I have the right of way.

Always.

ALWAYS.

So you toodle up the ramp, and you don't look in your rear view mirror to see what vehicle, most likely driven by someone nearly as human as you are, is heading in your direction. You don't look because you are a Massachusetts driver and YOU HAVE THE RIGHT OF WAY.

Trouble is, there's a very good chance that the vehicle containing a human or humans nearly as human as you are is heading toward your ramp and the human who is driving is likely ALSO to be a Massachusetts driver.

IDIOT ALERT! YOU BOTH CANNOT HAVE THE RIGHT OF WAY!

And here's what you do if you're toodling up that ramp heading towards doom and destruction.

You put your foot on the gas. And you enter the highway. And you keep not looking. Because you know, because you are you and you are an IDIOT, that you are not going to be demolished by that SUV or SEMI. You know that. Because you are from or you were born in Massachusetts and you are an IDIOT.

And you know what? You are right. Because the human driving the vehicle you are about to CUT OFF, despite not having the right of way, is ME.

And I will back off. And I will let you on the highway. Because I, also, am an IDIOT.

However, I am an IDIOT who wants to LIVE.

After I allow you on the highway, I will then spout off a series of sentences featuring a certain f-word which you can hear on premium cable. I will curse you to within an inch of your life.

But you will live.

As will I.

Because while I am an IDIOT like you, I am an IDIOT who understands your IDIOCY, and who knows how to deal with it.

It doesn't make for an easy, quiet commute.

But I get to where I am going.

And I get to use the f-word. Loudly. Uncompromisingly. Enthusiastically.

Which is, somehow, soothing.

In an IDIOTIC kind of way.