What Does Your Dickishness ACTUALLY Achieve?

On Thursday evening last week, I dashed out of work at the earliest moment in order to drive an hour up the road to visit my parents for the evening. And the massive display of dickishness I got to witness en route to my car made me wonder what the hell was going through the moron’s tiny, peabrain mind.

So I had parked my car on the far side of the road from my building, a few hundred yards down the road from where I exited the building. This was fine, apart from the fact that the driver’s door opened into the road, because of the way my car was pointing. Now, I was leaving at 4.15pm, the start of rush hour, and therefore the mass exodus of human beings from this area of the city.

As I merrily trotted down the road (on the pavement), I realised that at this time, I was going to have to dash across the road and fling myself into my car in a suitable traffic gap, rather than waiting for the road to clear.

So I prepared myself. I took my bag off my back so it wouldn’t slow me down, I readied my car keys, I unlocked the car, and, estimating the nearest vehicle to be a good fifteen seconds away, I crossed the road and opened my car door. I got in my car, and as I was closing the door, a small white van passed by, and a person of indeterminate gender shouted “Well done!” out the window at me.

Now, at this point, I want to just add that the gender was indiscriminate NOT because they yelled at me, but because they may or may not have been a woman judging from the timbre of their voice and the bleached blonde spiky cropped hair-cut, but they also may or may not have been a man, judging from the paw hanging out the window and the leathery skin I caught a glimpse of.

It took me a moment to process what had happened, but when it did, I laughed. I realised that the van momentarily had to desist in its acceleration whilst I closed my door. Bearing in mind that I was already in the car when they shouted at me, I delayed them by – at most! – a second. They hadn’t even tapped the brakes! But apparently, that inconvenienced them so much that they felt obligated to yell something at me that was designed to put me back in my place. (Which was apparently, not behind the wheel of my car.)

The trouble is, it just plain didn’t work. I didn’t feel ashamed or humiliated. I didn’t feel guilty or apologetic. I felt a bit bewildered and I felt a strange curiosity about the person whose life is so unfulfilling that they can only be satisfied if they yell at strangers in their cars.

Why would you do that? What have you achieved? They didn’t stop the van after shouting at me, so they have no idea if I flicked them the Vs or pulled out a gun and blew my brains out. They drove away, and I will never see them again. And yet, they felt the need to shout something out the window of their van because for a split-second, their trajectory was interrupted.

So, as I said, they were total strangers, so I can’t say with confidence that they weren’t neurosurgeons on their way to hospital to save a newborn baby’s life, but bearing in mind the condition of their vehicle, the leathery skin and the direction in which they were driving, I’m going to guess they probably weren’t. If they WERE on their way to save someone’s life, then I could understand their urgency. Instead, it was more like some woman got in their way and that made them rage with fury at the unfairness of it all. Damnit, a WOMAN! Driving a CAR! Without RUST! Leaving A JOB! And not MAKING A SANDWICH! And USING THE AIR AND THE SPACE!

It made me wonder what they were really hoping to achieve. What was that display of dickishness for? WHO was it for? Because all they really succeeded in doing was making me roll my eyes in derision and write a blog post where I get to insult them. They just provided compelling evidence that their penis is tiny and their inferiority complex is huge.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go and leave my car door open for several minutes, so I can gather material for tomorrow’s post…

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