2/10/2007
Opinion: You're Not Just Tailgating, You're Invading My Space
Guest editorial by Nick Polanich, agitated motorist
Look, you impatient fuck. I am going eight miles over the speed limit, and I do not apperciate your minivan right up on my ass. In fact, you are so close that I can see the glint of your tiny Razr V3 phone as you blather on with one of your idiot friends about how much traffic there is.
But you're not just tailgaiting, you're invading my personal space.
Sure, I know, you probably spend your whole life getting way too close to people, the kind of garlic-breathed schmuck who laughs too loud and spits small pieces of food on me at parties.
I understand this.
But I have some issues you should know about. One of them - let's just say - involved a drunken uncle 20 years ago, and I'm still working through the whole people-right-behind-me thing.
The other issue is my temper, which is short. Very. Short. And it's about ready to tell me to slam on the brakes, take a rear-ending, and to go out and pound your smarmy face into the pavement.
So for your sake and mine, either back the fuck off or pass me. You may not know what personal space is, but you're about to learn what it means to have a fist break your fucking nose.
Oh - and take care now.
Look, you impatient fuck. I am going eight miles over the speed limit, and I do not apperciate your minivan right up on my ass. In fact, you are so close that I can see the glint of your tiny Razr V3 phone as you blather on with one of your idiot friends about how much traffic there is.
But you're not just tailgaiting, you're invading my personal space.
Sure, I know, you probably spend your whole life getting way too close to people, the kind of garlic-breathed schmuck who laughs too loud and spits small pieces of food on me at parties.
I understand this.
But I have some issues you should know about. One of them - let's just say - involved a drunken uncle 20 years ago, and I'm still working through the whole people-right-behind-me thing.
The other issue is my temper, which is short. Very. Short. And it's about ready to tell me to slam on the brakes, take a rear-ending, and to go out and pound your smarmy face into the pavement.
So for your sake and mine, either back the fuck off or pass me. You may not know what personal space is, but you're about to learn what it means to have a fist break your fucking nose.
Oh - and take care now.
Labels: tailgaters, tailgating