Mar 23 2008
The Left Lane Is For Make-up Application Only
This is definitely a Peeve’s topic. I know I’m not alone in my disdain and general loathing of those drivers who seem to think that the left lane is their own personal HOV lane. I know the title suggests this is just about the ladies, but there are some men out there who need some re-edjukatin’ too. Say it with me now: The Left Lane Is The Fast Lane! I didn’t capitalize all of the letters, so technically I’m not yelling, I’m just raising my voice a little. I mean, come on people! If your goal is to go 67 miles per hour and stay front-bumper-matched with the car next to you, do it when there are 3 or more lanes! And make sure you’re in the middle one! If you’re trying to make a moral statement about speeding, and feel that by holding people up you’re “saving lives”, just remember that the guy behind you may be trying to get to the hospital to see a sick relative. Or, he could be trying to get to the ballgame, either way, Who Are You To Decide How Fast He Should Be Going?!
I’m not saying that you should get out of the way so that hot-rodders can blow past you at 100 miles per hour, I’m saying that if you’re going to go 67 miles per hour (you lawbreaker, you) you have no business being in the left lane period. Get out of the way, you’re going to get somebody hurt. Besides, if someone is doing 100 miles per hour, the last place you want to have your 67 mph butt is in front of them. Do you think he’s had his brakes looked at recently? Are you willing to take that chance? Maybe his power steering is about to go, or the accelerator is stuck. Wouldn’t you rather be out of harms way?
The worst case scenario pulled in front of me the other day: Woman driver (could have been a man in drag, I don’t know), steering with her knee, cell-phone in the crook of her neck, right hand applying eyeliner, and left hand waving about frantically. She was obviously making her point to the person on the other end of her cell phone. I really don’t think she even realized she was operating a motor vehicle. In her mind, I think she was seated comfortably behind her desk at work. “I don’t care if they’re beige, as long as they’re size 6!” Pulling in front of me wasn’t the issue, slowing down to 53 miles per hour and staying even with the 18 wheeler in the right lane was. We were going up a hill, mind you, and her awareness was fading by the moment. She was like an Allstate commercial on crack. All she needed to do was pull out her laptop, and she would have been crowned Queen of the Clueless.
I eventually got by her, 2 counties later. The line of cars behind me reminiscent of the closing scene from “Field of Dreams”. Now it was like Daytona. The CRX behind me was drafting, so a quick tap of the brakes sent him 3 car lengths back. But it cost me. I didn’t see the Acura coming up on my right until it was too late (how did he get around Estee Lauder so fast?), and he passed me in a flash. Begrudgingly I put on my right blinker and yielded the fast lane to those with a higher purpose than I. Besides, I was already doing 80, these people were just nuts! As I checked the review mirror, I could see headlights weaving, darting, jockeying for position. Brothers in arms, all. Oh, I made it to the game in time. Hurricanes won 5-1.
