To the guy in the car behind me:
Yes, I’m that @#&! idiot who’s hogging the middle lane and making you late for work.
And you know what? I couldn’t give a damn.
The left-hand lane is full of lorries who are restricted to 60 mph, and as they slow down to 40 every time we reach a hill, I’m not getting stuck behind them. If the road clears, I’ll pull in and let you pass, but until then you’ll just have to wait.
The right-hand lane is packed with maniacs zipping along at 90 miles an hour. If you want to overtake me, try pulling out in front of one of them. Please. You deserve each other.
Believe me, I know you want to get past. Yes, I did actually manage to figure that out when you flashed your headlights and tried to frighten me by driving close to my back bumper. Bad luck – I stopped being impressed by temper tantrums when I had kids!
I’m not some stupid old dodo trundling along and blocking your way, anyway. I’m going 70 miles an hour. You know, the maximum speed limit in this country, for any car, including yours, anywhere on a public road. You did pass your driving test, didn’t you?
Yes, you probably do want me to go faster, but I’m not allowed to. You’re not allowed to, either. Even in a Mercedes.
I don’t care that there are no speed cameras along here. That doesn’t mean it’s OK to break the law. I don’t need a security camera to stop me stealing in shops, and I don’t need one to stop me breaking the speed limit, either. That’s why the road ahead of me is clear.
Honk your horn as much as you like, mate. I’m late for a meeting, too. If I won’t endanger people’s lives by speeding to suit my own convenience, do you seriously think I’ll do it for a complete stranger’s? Don’t make me laugh.
I find it frustrating, too. I won’t keep you waiting longer than I need to, but I… OH, MY GOD! What’s that in the road? Looks like a big chunk of metal. Phew! Luckily I wasn’t watching your antics in my rear-view mirror, so I managed to slow down in time.
Would you?