Of all my offensive behaviors, which include scowling at children, using the words homo and retard and regifting christmas gifts, my driving etiquette has to top the list. I use the term etiquette loosely. My lack thereof would be a better way to describe my driving habits.

I wasn’t such a mean driver. Impatient? Yes. Passive aggressive? Sure. But maniac  would’ve never described me before I got a hands ondriving lesson from LA. Yeah LA I’m talking to you. I always say if you want to teach your kids how to truly learn defensive driving, turn them loose on the 405, 10, 101 (my recent travels to the city have led me to add the 5 and 110 to this list). You may be at risk for a mild heart attack but you’ll get your money’s worth and all you’ll probably pay for is a reckless driving ticket.

My mom taught me how to drive and I’m positive she spent the first six weeks of that process hating my dad and for once wishing he was around to bear the burden of teaching a klutzy 15 year old with a bad attitude how to maneuver a 2000 pound machine into rush hour traffic. The first time she let me drive, was a Sunday morning before church. She drove us in my small Nissan Sentra to a warehouse parking lot that was on the way to church and parked it in a space facing one of the abandoned warehouses. No other cars were there which meant so far, she was my only liability. We switched seats and she instructed me to back out and then drive to the end of the lot. I put the car in reverse, and grinned to myself. This is finally happening I thought. I had dreamed so long of being able to drive myself into the school parking lot, blasting the music of my choice and decorating the inside of my car with pink accessories. This was the beginning of my road to awesomeness. I pressed lightly on the gas and looked behind me, checking for any other teen drivers practicing in the parking lot and pressed the gas a little harder.

Something was wrong. The building was getting closer. Not further And my mom was screaming “BRAKE!” and motioning wildly at my foot while jamming her own imaginary brake on the passenger side. Whenever I’m  in the car with a shitty driver I find myself sliding down in my seat and hitting the imaginary brake, gripping that thing above my head that everyone uses to hang their dry cleaning on. I’m convinced that was invented by someone who had one too many near death experiences as a passenger. I don’t remember hitting the brakes but the car stopped and my mom bellowed for me to get out of the car. Apparently I had misjudged where the R button was in my excitement and slid the gear to D. This was grounds for delaying my driving lesson another week. She spent a lot of time in prayer that Sunday. I told all my friends I drove around a parking lot without incident.

I approach the road with the mentality that every other driver is a 15 year old, arrogant moron like I was and that defensive, aggressive driving is not only justified, it is necessary. If you’ve ever spent more than 15 seconds in a DMV you know that they just let anyone get a license. That includes the man who cut across three lanes of traffic to beat you into the parking lot just so he could wait in the line there just as long as you did. Those are people who know how to beat the system and somehow manage to avoid getting pulled over and having their license revoked. There are people out there with a driver’s license who couldn’t pass 9th grade English. These people are operating machinery for which they cannot even read the owner’s manual.

If I was in charge, the city transit system would be jammed with people because there would be very few of us with the “privilege” of having a valid license. I don’t get why driving is always referred to as a privilege. I pay my registration, insurance and for any of the numerous repairs my car is always in need of and I have not been the direct cause of an accident in my eight years of driving. As far as I’m concerned, I have the right to be independent and take myself where I need to go whether it be to work or to happy hour.

To me there are three types of drivers: aggressive, passive aggressive, and passive. I’m what you would call passive aggressive bordering on raging aggressive tendencies. Wow, aggressive sounds really weird after typing it five times. It almost looks like I spelled it wrong. Please tell me if I did because another thing I hate is poor grammar (mostly in the form of shorthand texting, but another pet peeve for another time). What characterizes a passive aggressive driver you ask? There are so many tactics that you can put into place without others noticing you’re being outright rude, but my favorite is the block-in.

I can be a bitch of a motorist, but it doesn’t mean that I like others to act the same way. For example, if I’m in a rush, I will weave around cars, cut people off without using my indicators and honk my horn wildly as I do so. However, if I’m in no rush and see someone rush up to my bumper like they’re going to mow me over, this is when I put operation: block this bitch into place. When this enraged motorist, who is driving like he has a woman going into labor in the passenger seat, inevitably cuts to the lane next to me, I speed up right as he’s coming up to the bumper of the next person he wants to harass. Then I slow down so that I’m driving right next to him and he has no choice but to slam on his breaks and either get behind me to get over into the next lane. If it’s a really good day, there are only two lanes in the direction we’re going and he’s trapped. Shazzam. He has no choice but to follow me, or the 15 passenger white van that is surely headed to the nearest park to abduct a child.

I learned in California that using your indicator is optional and in fact, a courtesy to other drivers who you feel are worthy enough to know you are about to shove into their lane in the next 2.5 seconds. Thus, this makes the indicator a passive aggressive tactic. When I’m annoyed with another driver, an old man who perhaps forgot to take his glaucoma medication and decided to go for a 25 mph spin in a 50 mph zone and make a right hand turn onto a busy street, I will not use my indicator as a way of disrespecting him. After I skid to a near halt behind his boat of a Buick, I will then switch lanes and cut him off without using my blinker as a way of saying “hey man, thanks for making the last 24 years of my life flash before my eyes.” If I’m feeling really ornery I will slow down and drive in front of them, switching lanes when they switch lanes and frustrating them to the point of turning into the next shopping center to get away from me.

It’s true, there might be something wrong with me when it comes to road etiquette. But like I said, as far as I’m concerned, everyone else is just wrong.