The Gas Pedal Is On The Right, Moron — Reasons Not To Stop on the On-Ramp

Not once, but twice this past week (just hours apart, actually), I encountered a very strange occurrence. I was driving along, minding my own business, trying to get on the Interstate when the car in front of me came to a DEAD STOP on the Interstate on-ramp. On the ON-RAMP! These people were clearly trying to kill poor, lil ol’ me – a person who’s never done anything wrong to anyone ever! Anyway, it angried up my blood something fierce. Here – look, I’ll show you:

There I was, accelerating to get onto the Interstate, like you do, when out of nowhere, the car in front of me decided, “What they hey, I’ll just stop for a hot minute.”

Just so you know, the Interstate on-ramp is not a place for stopping. It is a place for going. Fast going. Now!

It was entirely unclear why this person stopped, since traffic on the Interstate was light. There was plenty of room to merge. This person just said, “Hey, picnic time,” or maybe, "Ah, let me take this time to ponder the meaning of life," or possibly, “Man, smoking all this crack rock has tuckered me out.” Anyway, I saw this view in my windshield:

This is the definition of 'panic time.' I said this:

Now, by all rights, I should have smashed headlong into this woman:

Sending us both to our imminent deaths:

But, thanks to modern anti-lock brakes, I was able to stop my car in time to NOT die.

And that made some part of my brain happy, all this NOT dying. But the great majority of my brain was unhappy. The majority of my brain was telling me to do this:

And yet, my better angels won out, and I did not go on a killing spree.

I, in my supreme wussiness, settled for a long and clearly dissatisfied honk. Oh yeah, I told that woman who was boss.

But hang on! This was only the FIRST time this happened to me that day.

Not 90 minutes later, as I attempted to get back on the Interstate, it happened again! This time, it was a different car entirely. How could this happen to one person twice within a span of hours? Was it me? Had my car somehow taken on a magic spell? Was there some sort of cloaking device that caused people to see my car as an illusion -- maybe as something like this?

Regardless, I want you to take a lesson away from all of this. You need to drive more carefully around me. I'm very delicate.

If you want to act like a maniac and randomly stop in the middle of high-traffic areas, then that's your weird little psychosis, and I want no part of it. I like living -- it's been a good thing for me. Leave me out of your mental problems.