Being a commuter to our fine university, I find myself in a position less common to many of my fellow students. That particular position is screaming obscenities at my steering wheel while waiting for some asshole business-douche to cut in front of me from the left-turn-only lane.
I’m a resident of Somerset, Franklin Township – born and raised and embittered – so I don’t have the benefit of coming into Rutgers off Rt 18 and bypassing the daily traffic of people making their way into New Brunswick proper. I live just a few turns off the main lane of Easton Ave which feeds directly into the College Ave and the rest of the downtown area. The particular intersection that I’m talking about spans two blocks, two traffic lights, just along the hospital. There are two lanes of traffic heading into New Brunswick for those two blocks: one for through-traffic and right turns and one for left turns only. Left. Turns. ONLY.
Now, this left lane is usually way less inhabited than the right. Most people are heading through these lights and going further down Easton Ave into Rutgers, like me, or into New Brunswick, like the majority of businessmen and woman that I find myself popping blood vessels over each morning. That sparse left lane looks pretty tempting when there’s seven cars between you and the green light and you’ve got just twenty minutes until your class starts.
I’m being completely honest when I say that I’ve never slipped into the left lane. Never. I’m not turning left, it’s not my lane. Not for me. I’m not gonna be that asshole that I find myself wishing death upon when it comes time for me to cut back into the right lane to continue on my way to the RSC parking lot. I wonder why this simple logical progression has failed in the minds of so many others. Three others just this morning, for me!
The truly baffling thing about this phenomenon that, on average, it only puts you maybe three cars ahead of where you had previously been. Less, if you encounter a bitter, petty soul such as myself who will ride the bumper of the car in front of me, just to fully ensure that you don’t get your asshole marks of the day for that move.
Are those three car lengths really worth it? And, if they are, what makes you more worthy of them then the people behind you? The people, by the way, who waited patiently where they were supposed to be so as not to inconvenience a bunch of like-minded, caffeine-deprived 9 AM drivers. We’re all just trying to get where we’re going. You’re not entitled to getting there any quicker than the rest of us.
And if they really, really are, then all I ask is that you look properly chastised when I lean on my horn in protest of your dick-move. Because you’re really not in the position to flip me the bird through your mid-life crisis sport car’s sunroof, balding business-douche from this morning. The least you could do is own up to your utter disregard for the people around you.
Allison Chayya