Tuesday, December 16, 2008

Passing Zones, Bad Drivers, Mad Max, and The Subway Anger Management Test

I was watching comedy central on the television and then I went to get a shower before writing about my trip home from work. I returned to find that Scrubs had ended and Legally Blonde was now beginning. There really should be some sort of punishment for willfully subjecting the public to such a moronic piece of shit film. I suggest a vigorous beating with one of those fat red wiffle ball bats for anywhere between 45 minutes and 1 hour. Now, with that said, I shall indulge in angry German language industrial metal while ramble about the end of my day.

The first thing I would like to know is the answer to a couple of questions. First of all why is it that I can travel for hundreds of miles without seeing a single oncoming car? Not a single sign of opposing traffic as long as I'm not stuck behind a 375 year old lady who has no place to be except back to the cemetary where she resides before they close the gates at dusk? As soon as I get behind this lady, or a farm truck with hay bails falling off as he drives, some slack-jawed hillbilly driving a fucking pentagon sized tractor on the road at 9 mph, or a 1982, 3-tone buick with 4 different rims and one non-functioning Walmart spinner hubcap, then cars start coming! The cars don't come the other direction as long as there's no passing zone. As soon as there's a passing zone there will be a string of 9,463 cars all following slowly behind the only other 375 year old lady on the goddamn road! This happens every passing zone without fail. Which fucking diety did I manage to piss off to have this curse placed upon me? Which fucking one!? If anybody has any suggestions as to what god I should deliver a swift and well timed kick to the genitals to get this resolved, I am your captive audience!

Next... Why is it that 3 cars will wait, passing zone after open passing zone, behind a school bus and not attempt to pass? These cars will stay just spaced apart enough that I can't pick them off one at a time in order to make my way by this fucking titanic traffic blockading atrocity? Nobody seems to have any interest at all to pass the bus. As soon as I get a big enough passing zone that I can actually see that it won't be a blind suicide mission and I go by, then everybody else feels the need to follow! Not only do these wankers now want to follow but once we're by then seem to want desperately to get past me. If every I do concede and let them pass then they now decide it's ok to slow down to 10 miles per hour slower than I was traveling when they were fucking tailgating me? What the fuck is fucking wrong with you fucking people? Seriously, are you retarded? Did somebody drop you on your goddamn cranium when you were a child... 8 or 10 separate times? What kind of soggy breakfast cereal must be filling the void inside your skull to cause such an idiotic undertaking?

Even if there is no bus, nobody wants to drive at a decent pace until I try to pass them and then all of the sudden they're in a hurry and speed up by 15 miles per hour? Is there some sort of contract out on me that everybody knows about except myself? Do people get a reward for pushing my fucking blood pressure to record levels? At least I know that at this point in time I can successfully attain a bp of somewhere around 250/190 without actually blowing an artery. I don't know if that's a useful trait but it's fucking nice to know. If you are one of these people let me tell you that this is completely unnecessary to the 1000th degree! The next time I shop for a vehicle I swear I'm going to buy this.


With it I am going to employ a nitrous injection system and when I hit a passing zone, if the car who was previously traveling 40 mph now decides to speed up to 65 I am going to promptly slam them right the fuck into a tree like we are in a lawless post-apocolyptic wasteland and desperately racing for a distant petrol source. I wish upon these idiots 12 types of evil that can only be called forth though direct relationship with ancient pagan earth gods!

Finally... I decide to save time I am going to go to Subway to get some food to take home with me so that I get get about my lifting routine and then not have to cook dinner afterwards. I fucking hate Subway. This place serves the most vile excuse for pseudo-fast-food subs that I have ever come across in all my days on earth. What the hell is wrong with their chicken? What the fuck is that gelatinous substance that oozes and squishes around these petroleum jelly-like chunks of fake poultry? God, how can anybody eat that crap without launching? I decided I would stick with the one thing it's hard to fuck up, an Italian.

As I stand in line there are three people in front of me. One is some grizzled middle aged man who also appears to be in a hurry. This guy knows what he wants and he places his order like he fucking means it. Good man, I like him! The next two appear to possibly be a brother and sister aging approximately 15 years old each. The brother is on crutches, my guess is because somebody thought he was as stupid as I came to believe and broke his fucking leg for him. The sister is the one who decides to place the order for both of them. Sister doesn't bother eying the huge fucking menu on the goddamn wall for one second. She knows what she wants. When it comes time for these two future congresspeople to order, sister steps up.

The only coherent thing that comes out of her mouth in the next 5 minutes is that they need three subs. She thrice informs the lady behind the counter of this fact in a manner that leads me to believe she might have the IQ of a small patch of half-dead woodland fungus (she will promptly enforce this theory several times over). The first thing she decides she would like to have is "one of those ones with all the meat." Oh, yeah, that one, makes PERFECT FUCKING SENSE! They all have all the fucking meat you goddamn dolt! She doesn't even try to follow up with any sort of explanation until the morbidly obese "sandwich artist" with unwashed and poorly bleached hair informs her in a much more polite manner than I would have, that she has no idea which one that might be. The girl still doesn't know so the lady decides that the cold cut fucking combo will probably do fine and the girl doesn't protest.

The next two sandwiches will also be cold cuts until they are made and then brother decides he would like to interject that somebody who is not present had requested an italian. At this point the visibly irritated fat lady disassembles sandwich number two and places the meat back in the tray before rebuilding brother's request. The whole time the brother is fucking swinging back and forth on his crutches like a 6 year old on his 43rd mountain dew who is playing on one of those 80's metal swing sets that was hastily erected and not cemented into the ground. As he rockets back and forth like he's having a fucking anxiety attack I'm trying to decide if he's first going to crash through the goddamn sneeze guard in front of him or bash his way through the wall to his rear like a wrecking ball being operated by a drunken inmate having a manic episode. I have the near overwhelming urge to kick the fucking left crutch out from under him so that I might hasten the impending disaster and get it over with so I can fucking concentrate on something else for a minute. I decide better of it and keep my feet to myself.

Two of the sandwiches are apparently supposed to be toasted but the third is not. The fat lady again is not informed of this minor detail until all three sandwiches are toasting. Holy mother of christ are you fucking kidding me. What the fuck is going through the minds of these two degenerates? How hard is it to concentrate for 60 seconds, just long enough to complete a fucking food order? My head is ready to explode when the real fun begins. Now for the toppings! It is apparent at this point that by choosing the exact combination of stale toppings to delicately separate into thirds along each sub this girl is going to be able to unlock all of the secrets of the universe and maybe even eternal youth. It's like fucking neurosurgery.

Between 972 uses of the statement "um," "wait," "er," "ah, "hmm," and "maybe" she manages to select a combination of elements that would throw a fucking NASA engineer into a confused and stuttering state which would render him the shell of the man he was 6 minutes ago. She wants everything but nothing on top of everything else. Tomatos on one third, olives on another third, pickles on the third third. Maybe we'll put onions on the tomato third and banana peppers on the pickle third then some fucking gold dust on the fourth third. Oh, wait, there is no fourth third, we'll put the gold dust on the first third of the next one, no wait, make that lettuce instead. Scrape it off and fucking start again. I'm quite confident that there should be a sub dermal implant invented that will make stupidity unbearably painful.

This takes just about enough time that I'm pretty sure it's now spring again outside and I now feel like I'm fucking Rip Van Winkle just awakening from a horrifying nightmare after 30 years and stepping right into another one. This is why people do drugs! You know what kid? NO SOUP FOR YOU!! Just have her give you fucking bag of all that goddamn shit and separate it when you get home because I'm praying some disgruntled vagabond will stroll in in the midst of a bad acid trip and fucking punch you in the throat until you turn purple and start to twitch! No such luck.

I can see past the blur of my thousand yard stare that the lady behind the counter sees my anger and sympathizes with me. I also sympathize with her because I would have long ago vaulted over the counter and given this child a flying body drop reminiscent of Jimmy "Superfly" Snuka.


Finally after 2 eternities plus 12 years, dumb and dumber have their order complete and proceed to count out roughly 14 dollars in tattered and crumpled $1 bills (apparently mom is a stripper) and three fucking fist-fulls of random loose change which the obviously have not learned to count yet. They pour the change on the counter like they are afraid to part with it while the lady angrily counts it out.

When they're finally done they wander over to a booth and sit down while I pay for my food and then run out the fucking door like a fire drill has just been announced. God I cannot wait to get home! Fortunately for me there isn't really much traffic on the road now because everybody else has been home for 6 hours while I missed the new year. I must say that I had one hell of a fucking workout. No manner of weights can put of any sort of resistance against this much pent up rage. My arms still hurt 3 hours later as I sit here trying to type this past the tremors I have caused myself. I think maybe I need some sort of calm the fuck down medication but that would require seeing a shrink who would want to beat around the bush for 5 weeks before telling me a bunch of shit I already know and giving me something I already know I need. I do not have the patience for such an endeavor without throttling this individual to death after 12 minutes. I guess on the bright side I know some people would find me far less entertaining if I were a more calm individual. Christ do I need a drink. Vodka fixes everything. Goodnight everybody.

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