I have a road nemesis

For some reason driving down Stevenson instead of Mowry to get to the BART station in Fremont seems to be the morning drive from hell for me and for the loons that want to pretend the road is a racetrack and we're all in their way.

I've been having some regular tailgaters lately, and usually I don't care so much because they'll get annoyed with me only going 5 miles over the speed limit and will pass me by. We all hate the tailgater, have been a tailgater and have seen tailgating happen; so why do people still persist on doing it and not just going around? What I particular love, and this generally happens more on the freeway, are the loons that will drive up to your car at a billion miles an hour, tail gate you, and then move over to pass you. Hello? Like you couldn't figure out I'm not going a billion miles an hour such as yourself? Anyway. I digress.

So this past week I have had this one man who rides my butt all the way down Stevenson. This morning I got a little annoyed with the whole situation, so when he finally, and I stress FINALLY, decided to go around me, I sped up to trap him behind a car that was to my right. I didn't go fast enough, so he zipped right in front of me. Ah, whatever, I thought. But then a wad of paper came flying out of his window and hit my front window. It wasn't very large, and I wouldn't have noticed it if I wasn't looking ahead, but I'll tell you, you want to start a war with me -- well, then, strap your seat belt on, my friend.

My little car may look harmless, but it's got some pep. I know it like the back of my hand, and if I suddenly want to go really fast, I can make that happen. It's not called the pincushion because it's a target for everyone, oh no. It's the demon pincushion and all hell's bells, and you better get out of my way.

So I moved into the lane to the right and passed him up. As I did, I flipped him off.

(Okay, mom, I don't want to hear how I need to stop doing these things and so on and so forth -- it's called ROAD RAGE and I have it!)

He then pulled behind me and then moved into the right lane next to me (I'm in the middle). I continued to flip him off while I stared straight ahead. Then I thought, what if he really is a loon and follows me to BART. I'm a loon, so therefore, if he does follow me, I'm stupid enough to actually confront him and then be killed and dump in the bushes. I had only one choice: Floor it.

So when the light turned green, I shot off like a flying pinball and moved back into the left lane. He moved into the middle lane but was so far behind and got stuck in another mess of tailgaters (some plastic surgeon doctor near Kaiser in his fancy speedy car -- little does he know he could do just as well in a pincushion). I lost him at some point, and don't know whether he takes BART or not. That would have been good to know because I suspect I shall be seeing him again.

I told my husband about this incident (I didn't mention the flipping off --- or maybe I did --- anyway, he knows me), and so now he's going to follow me on Monday to the BART station and kick some old man hoopty butt. Throw paper at me? HELL NO. I'll bring out the demon of muscle to protect me (my husband and his car). Oh yes, the war is on.....