I feel for Penny and her grueling commute. I really do. It sounds dreadful.
But sometimes I’m a tad jealous of those who can successfully release their traffic-induced vitriol on their fellow roadmates. I cannot. I can’t even honk.
It’s great that in an emergency situation my reaction is to hit the breaks instead of the horn, I’m not complaining about that. And it’s not that I can’t outswear a sailor. Anyone watching me during class selection in college will attest that my vocabulary is expansive and grotesque. But the use of expletives, for me, is calculated and premeditated; a stylistic choice. It is never a reaction.
Which is why the best I can come up with when I’m cut off is “I BEG YOUR PARDON?! If you haven’t noticed we’re ALL merging here and this would really go quite smoothly if you just followed the alternating pattern!”
So while I wouldn’t change my backroad, seven minute commute for anything, it is difficult to rehearse and hone proper road rage without the right environment. It takes practice to switch out my usual “A pox! A pox on you and your kin!” with the perfectly inflected “F*** you, BUDDY!” and to learn to raise my middle finger instead of my pinky.