Saturday, 20 April 2013

Broom Bloody Broom

Given my mild manners and temperament *ahem*, it may surprise you to learn that I suffer from the odd bout of motorous furious. A.K.A. road rage.
It is very much at the milder end of the scale, I hasten to add, and the ginger temper is kept within the confines of the car. No axes have been wielded (that actually happened to a friend of mine once…) and no fingers have been extended (how uncouth!), but my tendency towards offensive language goes into overdrive, and it's not unknown for me to use the recognised sign-language for 'what the f… are you doing you utter moron?!' (hands aloft, palms up, tongue stuffed behind bottom lip).
It's my poor passengers who really bear the brunt of it, as I cut off them off mid-sentence, bellowing 'FOR F#*! SAKE!' at the top of my lungs at the eejit who's just cut in front of me (yes, I know, how uncouth…) My friends and family know me well enough to let this wash over them, but there have been times when I've given work colleagues (or ‘fellow corporate whores’) a lift. As you can imagine, I work hard to maintain a professional image *ahem* and professionalism and prodigious potty mouth don’t tend to go hand in hand. How on earth I manage to secure AND hold down jobs I’ll never know.
The first time a friend of mine was in the car with me she was in the middle of a story when my travel tourettes kicked in (the aforementioned hollering of 'FOR F#*! SAKE!', or similar). We worked together at the time but didn't know each other very well, and the poor girl thought I was having a slightly mental reaction to what she got up to at the weekend. Luckily she's made of stern stuff and our friendship has lived to laugh at the tale. (I can’t remember what she did get up to that weekend, but knowing her as I do now it probably involved pampas grass, a bowl and some car keys, the filthy mare.)
The one that really gets my goat is drivers that don’t say thank you when I have extended a motoring kindness to them. Hence my more frequent, but less foul-mouthed, outburst; screaming 'YOU'RE WELCOME' at these ignoramuses (or ignorami, if you will). A wave of the hand/flash of the lights costs nothing when I've let you out, you boorish *bleeeeeeep*s. Did your mother not teach you basic manners?!
…and breathe.
Anyone want a lift?
Liz doesn't suffer motoring morons gladly either...

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