Today, I snapped at a driver who was speeding on the block I grew up on. It’s a residential street that connects to an arterial road via a large opening. Because of this, cars entering St. Charles Place go extremely fast when they make a right turn because they don’t have to make a sharp turn like on most other streets. It’s a nice, easy curve that brings out the worst in drivers. It’s been a pain in my side for a good chunk of my life. I don’t care what anybody says, you shouldn’t go 40-50 MPH on a residential street. It’s not a bullshit law to steal money out of your wallet like parking violations. It’s a law that’s meant to protect human lives. There are kids that live on my block. I’ve seen them run up and down the street, and I some times worry that some speeding asshole is going to take a life just because they couldn’t be inconvenienced to slow down.
I visited my mother and grandmother today. I parked on the street. When I left, my car was parked on the south side, pointing me in the wrong direction, so I made a 3 point turn to go the opposite way. As this happened, a guy was speeding from Venice Blvd onto my street. He didn’t slow down. He saw me making my turn from a distance and decided to keep driving at the same speed like a true asshole. He eventually had to slam on his brakes and stopped only a couple of inches away from my car.
Instead of completing my turn, I hit my brakes, lowered my window and asked, “What the fuck are you doing?!” The guy was older than me. He looked about 35, chubby as a beared pig in a red Honda Civic. He was blasting loud music that he had to turn down when I yelled at him. The guy yelled at me to move my car, and I replied, “No. What the fuck are you doing?! This is a residential street, and you’re flying like a fucking madman.” The guy responds, “Fuck you, get out of the way.” I say, “No, mother fucker. You’re the asshole here. This is a residential street, and you’re supposed to slow down!” The guy then asks, “What’re you a fucking cop?” “No, this is my fucking block. And you’re driving like an asshole, you fat piece of shit. Slow down next time!” “Fuck you!” He responded.
I was ready to get out of my car. I wanted to punch a hole in his blubber laden face and probably would’ve broken some teeth if not for the line of cars that started building up behind him. I stared at his beady little eyes and I could see he was afraid. He could hear the pure hatred in my voice. My hands clenched the steering wheel, ready to rip his face off. Then I realized the guy probably would’ve had a heart attack if I instigated a fight. Besides, I was on my way to meet up with a director about a script he wants to me write for him. I just looked at the driver and said, “You better watch the way you drive!” I completed my turn but didn’t move my car just in case he wanted to have a go at me. Of course, the guy put his foot on the gas and tried speeding away, but as luck would have it, a neighbor down the way pulled out of their driveway and got in the asshole’s way. He had to hit his brakes again and drive like a normal person.
I felt good afterward. A surge of adrenaline rushed through my body. I know that the guy probably went home, never realizing that he was in the wrong. Maybe I was too angry to get my point across. Maybe I didn’t have to call him a fat piece of shit. But it felt good to release that anger. I put a little fear in his bones and I don’t regret it one bit. Because you can’t expect to be an asshole and get away with it every time. Every once in a while, you’ll run into somebody who doesn’t give a shit and will call you out on your bad habits, whether it’s in an intense situation or a casual one. It just so happened that he picked the wrong night and the wrong street. I’m sure he’s still angry and sulking in his room, eating his microwave burrito, thinking, “If only…”