Dear Wimp in the Mazda,
Listen, I am not your personal lane-change buddy. I let you in on the scary, breakneck change-lane requirement that heralds the beginning of my nightly trip home, but that doesn't mean that we're friends. It is a hard change, immediately upon entering the freeway, because in about 25 feet the lane becomes exit only. And the cars are solid, bleeding brakelights in the three adjacent lanes. But this act of kindness, seeing you panic and fret at the wheel and delay getting over until it was nearly waay too late, doesn't mean I'm a kind-hearted soul. In fact, all it does mean is that you don't have the sack required to be on the freeway this time of day. So hemming and hawing and braking your ass off until I get in the other lane, and then cheerfully putting your blinker on as soon as you see me? Nice try, but forget it. I suggest you double your stress, quadruple your daily caffeine intake and practice being a complete and total bitch each day. Then, and ONLY then, can we be friends.
Best,
Salome
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