Stay Out of My Lane

Back when I was knee-high to a grasshopper, my Papaw, who was once a long distance truck driver, used to tell me, “Yankees treat their cars like toys.” I understood the logic of what he was saying, but I never truly knew the weight of his words until I became of driving age. The funny thing is, I live in the South, I shouldn’t have to understand it. But apparently, after living in Florida for 10 or so years, I have traveled so far south that I’ve reached Yankeedom and I can’t take it anymore. As God as my witness, if one more Northern and out-of-state plate cuts me off, I am going to lose my damn mind.

There are many things that exist north of the Mason-Dixon line that we don’t have here and, apparently, turn signals are one of those things. But that’s okay, you thought I was a mind reader, it’s not your fault. I’ll just slam on my brakes and have a heart attack because I guess I didn’t get the memo that it’s your road. And, then there are the ones who like to stop short in the middle of the road, for no apparent reason at all. Not only that, but the ones who stop short in the middle of the road come to a complete and utter stop, then turn very very slowly (think about as slow as molasses in January) into an already easily accessible entrance.

You know what? Maybe next time I’ll just accelerate instead and [ r e d a c t e d ] us both. Yeah, that’ll show ’em, be sure to tell your “masshole” friends about it too, you faggot.

Honking the horn. How the Eternal Yankee loves to honk the horn for the most minuscule of reasons. Down in the South, we almost never honk our horns. Want to know why? Because it’s extremely rude and being rude to strangers usually means you’re going to get an ass kicking. If you need to honk your horn it’s usually for only two reasons: (1) to say hello to someone or (2) someone is taking a legitimately and excruciating long period of time to do something on the road. We’re reasonable. Yankees though? Not reasonable at all. If you don’t smash your foot on the gas within 1.5 seconds on a green light, expect the Yankee to lay on that horn. Matter of fact, I wish a Yankee would.

The Yankee tailgates because he is always in a tremendous hurry (usually, to go nowhere), but he/she/xir has to assert their rude values on others. War never changes – even on the highway. Excuse the hell out of me, I was only going 60 mph in a 55 zone. Terribly sorry I don’t want to die in a fiery car crash or get a speeding ticket because you think this is the Long Island Expressway. Hopefully, a good ‘ole boy from Gator Country gives you more than a speeding ticket.

Don’t even get me started on drivers from states like Michigan, Wisconsin, Illinois, etc. Those people have been snowed in for so long that I don’t think they’ve even seen their first car until they were 35. The things that go through my head while I’m stuck behind these people would make “Bloody Bill” Anderson blush. Beaners are better drivers than most of them and they can’t even read the damn traffic signs. I want to conclude this article with a message to the Yankee drivers and my Dixian drivers.

Yankees: stay out of my lane, stay out of my state and, most importantly, stay out of my Southland.

To my Dixians: Papaw was right.

-By Mason

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