Serenity now!

The more I drive the more I fall prey to the Curse of Doyle¹. One under the sway of The Curse tends to drift into the philosophy that cold be considered the exact opposite of “defensive driving.” I am sorry to say that through years of commuting I have reverted to my seventeen-year-old self when behind the wheel of my car every morning and evening as I travel to and from work. I feel badly about this, honestly I do. I feel even worse since karma finally caught up with me last week and I got two tickets (one for speeding, one for turning left during hours I shouldn’t have been turning left) within four days of each other. Ouch!

Needless to say I took both tickets and gave neither officer any lip. I was in the wrong in both cases and while all the money I have to pay back in fines does truly suck I feel it’s fortunate that I’ve been offered this chance to notice that I have truly been slowly turning into a complete asshole driver.

For instance, I won’t talk on my cell phone aud nauseum because I think it’s unsafe but I will cut off someone talking on their cell and then slow down in hopes of snapping them out of their chat induced reverie. I will drive up on the right side of someone traveling twenty miles in a thirty mile per hour zone and then blow past them. I make many dubious decisions in my haste to get from one place to another because I so hate being stuck behind a steering wheel for so many hours each day.

I have learned the error of my ways though! It’s time to chill out, cool down and take a deep breath every time some other driver pisses me off. It’s time to smile and wave each time someone gives me the finger for whatever reason. It’s time I became a better human behind the wheel in hopes that it might rub off on drivers around me.

Or maybe it’s just time to convince my boss to open a satellite office in the city so I don’t have to drive anywhere ever again! Oh man, that would be so sweet. So so sweeeet. (Please take a moment here to imaging me staring off vacantly into space with a slack jaw and a thin line of spittle making it’s way down from the right hand corner of my mouth.)

But it ain’t gonna happen so I guess I’ll just have to take the bit and continue on the slow hard road to self-improvement I’ve lately been trying to master.

¹This is named after my friend Mark Doyle, who is one of the nicest, sweetest, funniest people I know. When Photogal’s friends are looking for nice guys and we’re brainstorming which of my friends to recommend, Doyle is at the top of the list. I could refer a girl to him without having to worry that I might be sending her into a viper’s nest. However, once Doyle slides behind the wheel of a car he starts cursing like a sailor, waving his arms all about and generally pumps back and forth between accelerator and brake pedals as he attempts to navigate amongst the sea of driving idiots that surround him. Sometimes I'm just afraid the veins on the side of his forehead are just going to pop and it'll cost me a mint to get all the blood stains out. For this reason I always wear dark colors when I'm in a car under his command.