Monday, October 23, 2006
I’m seriously freaked out by the residents of Los Angeles this week. I was almost beaten Rodney King style by a fellow Los Angelian yesterday. This man looked (at least from his car) like Captain Kangaroo; a perfectly innocent, gray-haired man, old enough to be my father, which I always think means that someone will feel paternal towards a woman my age. They either have a daughter my age, or hell, a girlfriend, but they know somewhere in their pea-brains that I am not their physical equal and that while I am a feminist, I do believe women and men are not equals, in general, in the arenas of street fighting one another.
I was driving North on Santa Monica Blvd and taking a right on Beverly. The right turn lane is just one lane and not one of those opportunities where two lanes can turn right at the same time. Once you turn onto Beverly you can split off into either the right or left lane. It’s safe and sane, to let the person driving in front of you to pick their lane first and you respond accordingly. That is my opinion and I would belive “the law’s” opinion as well.
So I’m driving along and almost the whole way down Santa Monica blvd the guy behind me is UP MY ASS. He is driving a huge, black, beyond SUV car. He is driving with his head out the window, like he’s a dog, or about to puke, but really he’s trying to see as far as he can into the horizon for the point where traffic no longer exists. I don’t know what he’ll do if he sees this point, he still has a line of cars in front of him. Maybe he thought he’d take a flying leap over us.
Anyway so I took my right on to Beverly. Remember what I said before that once on Beverly you can drive in the right or left lane? Well I stayed left, because in just a moment I would be turning left. I would not recommend, for legal reasons, speeding behind me when I’m turning right and literally ramming me off the road so that I suddenly have to veer into the right lane to avoid being a hood ornament for this guy’s car.
So I beeped. Nothing crazy. I no longer give the finger. (someone almost murdered me two weeks ago when I did that.) I gave a tap-tap-beep. As if to say, “I’m here! Watch out! We don’t want to hit one another. That would delay us even further and most likely you’d be wrong and your insurance will go up and all that crap. Have a nice day!”
Well, then we both hit a red light. He was in front of me. And he blew the red light. Good riddens, I thought. And then I saw him do a psychotic U-turn, in front of oncoming traffic. His SUV almost went up on two wheels and he pulled into a side street. He got out of his car (he was about 100 yards away?) and began giving me the double finger, one on each hand, and pumping his arms, “Fuck you! I’m going to kill you! You’re dead! Here I come!”
Oh, my God. I begged the light to turn GREEN. If he got in his car, he could slam into me, I wasn’t putting it past him or if he started running, and left his car going, he could reach me by the count of 10. I let my windows up, locked the door, dialed 911 on my phone and did not hit send and thank God the light turned green and I drove off. He got in his car and did another psychotic U-turn but luckily was many cars behind me. But I didn’t trust it, so I started veering off onto side streets. I took the windiest, most stupid way back to my house, that added an extra 25 minutes on to my drive, when I got stuck on paprazzi row on Robertson.
Man. You have to be on meth, coke or some other “speedy” drug to think that getting out of your car and trying to kill someone, is the reasonable way to deal with being late for something. I would say not stopping to murder me, would get you there faster. But what do I know? I’m just a woman driver.
All this and I had to go home to send emails out about my one-woman show. Man, I hate doing that. I barely enjoy performing it when I have to do this self-promotion. I feel like my emails are not just reminders but at this point, “brags” or endorsements from me. And it’s not. I just don’t have someone who does it for me. And a while ago, many, many people agreed to be on my email list and I told them that I’d write once a week with an update.
I really don’t need the attitude, the emails back that say, “I’ve seen it” or “Hey, I’ll catch it the next millions of times you do it.” Just come. Or don’t. Don’t act like an SUV driving douche-bag. Rise above.
Mom and Dad, if you’re reading this, don’t worry. It’s not always like that in Los Angeles.