Hearse

(Update: Now with less errors!)

The first thought to shoot out of my brain upon seeing a hearse on the roadways is not, "Oh man, that's sad. There's somebody's loved one."

Nor is it, "Creepy, there's a dead body in there."

No, it's actually more along the lines of, "Shit! I'm about to get stuck waiting on this procession!"

Don't even try to pretend you aren't thinking the same basic thing.

And it's always Captain Social Butterfly and his six thousand friends and relatives in a two thousand car procession. It's never the car parade of the quiet dude from accounting with the body odor problem and child molestor eyes. Nope. It's never a short wait. Always a long one.

I sometimes, albeit very rarely and very briefly, wish I were the asshole who cuts through the thing because his time is more important. I mean, yes, his time is technically more important. It's not like the guy in the casket has ten minutes to get to the cemetary to punch in, but c'mon, you can't wait a few minutes?

Mostly my anger at getting caught comes from my substantial number of hours behind the wheel. I'm all about speed and efficiency. Anything that gets in the way of that tends to immediately irk me. I can't stop it from happening initially, but at least in the case of a funeral procession I can reason with myself into the proper attitude without turning into the asshole procession cutter.

The proper attitude, if you're wondering, is one of hope.

Hope that karma finds a special place in traffic to wrap the procession cutter firmly and aggressively around a semi. I don't usually wish ill will upon anyone but if you decide to be a dick I truly believe you deserve equivalent treatment from karmic forces.

With that in mind, I'm going to go find some foreign retarded women in wheelchairs to hold a door for.

You know, just in case.


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