Dashing off a Quick Note:

Dear Yielders Who Aren't Actually YIELDING:

Goddamnit. Listen, I can't believe I actually have to write this! DIDN'T YOU TAKE THE SAME GODDAMN TEST I DID? Here is what you do when you drive up or down something and there is a yield sign (facing you, you fucking idiot, not facing me, which would be a different letter altogether.)

1. LOOK, Motherfucker!
2. If you see a tiny, weathered escort driven by a wild-haired girl with a stubbornly set jaw, flooring the pedal until the entire car whines......then you should stop and patiently wait until I am nowhere near. You can almost bet on the fact that although I do know what brakes are, I rarely use them, sparing them for the situations I find myself in (see earlier letters) where I am FORCED to use them to avoid pain of sudden death.
3. Alternately, you can listen for the screaming of my engine and decide that you can beat me, in which case, I sincerely urge you to fucking beat me. And I dare you. I DARE YOU. This little escort has a heart like mine, which means she'll go 180 if I so ask of her. She may fall apart while doing it, but she loves me and will try her best.

WHAT YOU DO NOT DO, IN ANY HOLY UNIVERSE:

1. Slide right in front of me without looking or stopping your cellphone chat.
or
1. Tentatively pull out in front of me, and then SLAM on your brakes, like you're all sorry and shit, because by that time? Bitch, you're in front of me now, and if you don't floor it I'm going to be even MORE pissed. No apologies necessary. If you're going to drive like an asshole, then DRIVE LIKE AN ASSHOLE. Being a thug means never having to say you're sorry.
or
1. Be so completely fucking oblivious that you do all the above while chatting on the phone and I'm all freaking out and wild-haired angry behind you trying to wish you dead with my bare eyes and then go slow and act all like the world is nothing but this big fun place with really great sunsets.

....because I do not know that kind of world,

Salome