Inappropriate Autonomous Body Actions (IABA)

Our bodies sometimes do things that we can't control, and they usually do so when it's the least appropriate time for it to happen. Sometimes those little autonomous actions are simply funny to you and those around you. Sometimes they are mortifying to all involved. The time when we are most vulnerable to our bodies' individuality is when we are sleeping--in front of other people.

I've become a marathon slug-sleeper, and my performance is improving. There are times when I can be asleep within 5 minutes of settling into a car, provided all the circumstances are amenable to doing so. It's the times that prevent me from sleeping that typically get the most blogging attention. Except this time.

Lately, I have been experiencing some repeated incidences of inappropriate autonomous body actions (heretofore IABA). My particular IABA seems to happen most frequently within a few minutes of drifting off to sleep, when you are in a semi-conscious state that leaves you just aware enough to know it happened without realizing it was actually you doing it. I believe it either goes unnoticed does not prompt a reaction from those around me most times. It seems to be happening a lot in the last few weeks, probably because I have been sick. It happened this morning, and I instantly became aware that the person next to me noticed it.

The rides were coming in slowly, and there was beginning to be a backlog of riders to my location. When a car pulled up going to my destination, me and another man stepped out. The man behind me decided to glom onto our ride and asked if the driver would take a third. Of course the driver did, and we all stuffed ourselves into this tiny little car. I got into the backseat behind the seat that was pushed back so far that I was eating seat as soon as I got in. The 3rd rider got in the backseat on the other side. He was so obnoxious that I had to over dramatize the inconvenience he was causing me. He climb into the seat with about 5 enormous bags of differing purposes. He had a briefcase, a gym bag, a lunch bag, a laptop bag, and what appeared to be a trash bag. (Side comment: if you carry that much crap to work everyday, you should consider driving.) So when he got in, he spread out his crap menagerie well into my space, which obstructed my ability to put my seatbelt on. I kept making all sort of grunts and groans and dramatic movements trying to get him to move his garbage out of my way so I could get strapped in. He finally caught on and moved his one bag over. When I got it clicked, he moved it right back. So there I was all scrunched up in the far corner behind an overly recline front seat and a backseat full of this guy's life. I owned my little corner and lowered my head to hopefully drift quietly off to sleep. I managed to successfully lose consciousness within a few minutes, but I was still somewhat aware of what was going on in the car. And then it happened.

I let out a loud little whimper. Yes, a whimper. Apparently, I've become a cry-baby in my sleep. Apparently my life has progressed to such a high degree of suck that I whimper in my sleep. Now, I know your mind was in the gutter and thinking that I was going to say something else, but trust me, whimpering in your sleep can be pretty humiliating too!

So, I let out my whimper, and it immediately brought me out of my quasi-sleep state. As soon as I realized what I had done, I tried to cover it up with a laugh. It was sort of like "whimper....hehehehehe". I discreetly looked around the car to see if anyone else had noticed, and sure enough, Mr. Bagman was looking right at me as if I just shouted obscenities in church. I turned to him and smiled and said "I just remembered something really funny my daughter said to me this morning." In true obnoxious form, he couldn't just leave it at that! He started saying "oh well, it was a good memory, so that's a good thing. It's always nice to start off the day with a good thought, right? blah blah blah blah blah" I stopped listening to him and just closed my eyes again and tried to go back to sleep. A few minutes later, I did it AGAIN! Damn it! This one was a little smaller, so I was pretty sure the guys up front didn't notice it. I looked over at Mr. Bag-full-of-sunshine, and he was sleeping.

Luckily for me, his IABA is loud, obnoxious snoring, so I went back to sleep comforted with the knowledge that my little IABA outbursts would be masked by his. Maybe he wasn't so bad after all!

Scent of a Woman

I love the smell of a clean, well-groomed man who has a nice, subtle but sexy cologne on. I enjoy walking past an attractive man whose scent arouses my senses. But that's the end of it. I don't linger or investigate or comment, unlike....

This morning I stood in line waiting for my lottery number to be called, and this guy in his early 40s was walking toward me to get in line. I'd describe him as an average looking guy with a decent suit, nice shoes, and a fetish. He walked behind me, perhaps a little closer than I'd normally like, but I told myself it was just because he was avoiding something on the other side of him. He passes me and then turns around and doubles back to me. I only sort of halfway noticed that he'd come back until he buried is face in my hair!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

He bunched a handful of my hair and just nosedived into it! He made a sort of low-throat "mmmmmmmmmmm" sound as he sniffed with all of his olfactory might. I recoiled forward and turned around with a strong expletive that questioned his motives and mental health. He simply smiled in a slow, mental-patient kind of way and said "you smell so nice." Oh my God! REALLY?

The woman standing next to me was in TEARS laughing at this scene. I was just standing there being sensually violated by this guy's nose, and he was smiling at me like it was perfectly normal to just walk up and hair-sniff a woman! I was partially in shock. The lady next to me who couldn't stop laughing got hers next, but she wasn't laughing so hard when he gave her a sniffing and was not pleased with her scent. He wrinkled his nose and pointed to me and said "eh, you smell better!" and then he smiled and walked to the back of the line.

I would have totally knocked the guy out, but his little jab at the other lady made me happy. So I ducked into my ride with a smile on my face and a mental note to replace my perfume immediately.

Ahhhhh, the slug's life, ain't it grand!

Optimism

I am decidedly pessimistic, and I am not ashamed of it. I see things through a tainted lens of cynicism that drives most people insane, but I regard it as my shield from inevitable disappointment. If I enter a situation assuming the other person will let me down, and they do, then I don't leave that situation feeling crushed by the betrayal of my optimism. But that's just me. There are so many out there who are optimists, or at least they hopeful to become one. Yesterday, I had a truly inspirational epiphany that will probably fade soon, but for today, I feel inspired enough to share the positives of slugging.

Yesterday, I had to break away from my normal routine and go to a different location on the other side of DC from where I normally go. This meant that I didn't know any of my fellow riders or drivers, and I had no clue where I would actually get dropped off (sometimes the location we agree on is just a "suggestion" that you hope gets you close to your actual destination.) Ironically, luck was on my side, and someone drove up calling out my new location and was actually going to the same building as me. I got in and celebrated my luck, and my luck improved even more. The driver and rider was this really nice lesbian couple who were so friendly and helpful. I explained that I normally did not go to this particular location, to which the passenger responded "yeah, we see you in line everyday, but we've never picked you up." (**I'll hesitate here for you to have the same reaction as me**) So, I smiled and explained that I'm just a one-timer, and we all began to chit-chat about various things. We talked about traffic, the election, the weather, the fall foliage, and then slugging in general. I got the low-down on how to get home, and I even got a hand-drawn map! It was just a really nice experience, and I feel like I made 2 new friends that I'll never see again. :)

I went on my way to a long day of meetings and discussions and discussions and meetings, and I left just exhausted. I was dreading the end of the day a bit because, despite my custom map, I was not confident that I'd get a ride home. Basically, the location of this "slug line" was this "the third planter on the right." Yeah, it's that specific. I hiked up the road looking for the magical planter, and I saw a line of people. I stopped and asked if they were going the same place as me, and the nice lady directed me to the correct planter at which there was a car waiting.

The next few moments were surreal for me. Things crossed my mind that normally don't. I slug everyday without even thinking about what I'm actually doing, but for a moment, it was like I was having an out of body experience. I walked up to this man's car who was sitting at the curb. I instantly felt like a hooker. I leaned down and he lowered his passenger window. I asked if he was going my way, and he said yes. Still feeling like a hooker. I almost expected him to ask "how much?". I smiled a bit at the humor of that whole exchange, and I confirmed with him once again, using different terms, that he was indeed going to my location. He said yes again, and I climbed in. At this moment, I asked myself "isn't this what we teach our children NOT to do?"

He had someone already sitting in the back, and I didn't realize it until I got in because of the tinted windows. The initial shock of that realization had me a little nervous, but I calmed down a bit when the driver's cell phone went off and he answered it to have a discussion about dinner plans with his wife and kids. Certainly he and his backseat buddy didn't intend to kill or rape me right after placing an order for General Tsao's chicken.

The pessimist in me stayed on guard for most of the ride, watching and waiting for signals of my impending doom. Fortunately, nothing appeared. It was completely and totally uninteresting. He was a good driver whose windshield needed to be cleaned. He listened to bad Top 40 music on the radio, and he kept his thoughts to himself. The person in the backseat sat typing on his blackberry, and we all arrived to the sluglot unscathed and a little bored with the whole routine of it all.

As I stepped out onto the pavement of the lot that I park in and ride from every day, I looked around at the hundreds and hundreds of cars of people just like me and I saw optimism. Every person parked in that lot rides to work with strangers, who can sometimes become friends. We put our faith in each other in a mutual relationship based on blind trust and optimism. We are optimistic that the driver picking us up will get us where we are going safely, and that optimism is met with results day after day. A process of quasi-institutionalized hitchhiking works in an area where people choose to live long distances away from the big bad city. We share a common suburban personality with big-city ambitions, and we all go to and from work everyday joined in anonymous camaraderie. When a new person reaches out a hand for help and guidance, we gladly take it and show them the way because we all started in that same place.

Some of my best "critics" of this blog often say to me that I'm too negative, that I focus on the bad things and leave out the good. My epiphany was this. This entire blog is based on optimism. I wouldn't have a blog if I were not a little optimistic. I take my experiences and find the pieces that are entertaining to me, but the underlining message is that despite whatever "negative" experiences I have, I continue to rely on strangers to get me take me back and forth to work. I stand in line everyday knowing that I will get in someone's car who has a life about which I know nothing.

With all the negativity, pessimism, and discontent in this world, I embrace my general pessimistic attitude by providing a daily account of my inherently optimistic actions.

The thing that makes Americans great and unique is that we can hope for a better future while complaining about the present. It's the one quality that has allowed us to emerge triumphantly from depressions and world and civil wars. We experience fear, disappointment, frustration, and sacrifice, but we do so because we believe in a "better time." We believe that it will all work out.

So, I will wait in line with my fellow sluggers and confidently ride in cars with strangers.

The Dangers of Mouthbreathing

I get up every morning at the ungodly hour of 4:45 AM. The first thing I do as part of my routine is to turn on the television to listen to the news and traffic. It helps me wake up and predict whether or not my day is going to generally suck for reasons not under my control. I listen with half an ear to the "traffic and weather on the 8's" at least 4 times during my morning routine. You would think, after all that, and the repeated warnings of the temperature being in the f-ing 30s, I would dress appropriately. But no. Not me. I know better. I still live in the days of early autumn when all you need is a light jacket.

When I settled into the snake-like slug line this morning that had coiled itself all the way around the bus shelter, the realization that it's not going to be a mild winter struck me. I was wearing my stylish leather jacket that is only capable of containing temperatures well above freezing and a very thin shirt underneath. I stood there just a little cold at first, and then the heat reserve built up from my car quickly wore off. I was painfully aware that I chose peep-toe flats to wear to work today, and every exposed part of my body was starting to shiver.

I've been sick for the last week, and while I'm getting better, I still can't breathe through all this congestion. My nose is pretty much clogged all the time, but standing out in the cold made it even worse today. So I graciously accepted my ride resigned to the fact that I'm temporarily a mouth-breather.

The guy who picked me up was such a character that I don't even think I can do him justice by describing him. His energy was bountiful, and his enthusiasm was entirely inappropriate for the hour or the audience.

Shortly after merging onto the interstate, he startled me from my slow tumble into commuter slumber by yelling "WOW! DID YOU SEE THAT!!!??" My eyes flew open expecting to see an 18-wheeler riding tandem on a Mini Cooper, but I saw nothing out of the ordinary. He followed up by saying "it was a shooting star! Right there, going across the interstate." I halfway wanted to laugh, but the other part of me, the more jaded and aggressive part of me, wanted to tell him to reserve his enthusiasm for flying body parts or mangled metal. I was not in the mood to hear about missing a shooting star.

Then the really funny part kicked in. He was listening to country music, and Garth Brooks' "Friends in Low Places" came on (probably for the 80 billionth time on that radio station). He sat straight up with his coffee in his hand and started singing! SINGING at 6:20 AM on I95. It was like being in another dimension where people are happy and sing songs with strangers before the sun comes up. He looked around at me and the other poor bastard riding with us as if to say "aren't you going to join me for the chorus?" This particular song is reserved for very specific situations in my life, and this was not one of those situations. A very drunk Irishman serenaded me with this song (and a few Irish patriot songs), and I'll never be able to listen to it with the same perspective. So no, I didn't sing along. But it actually put a shadow of a smile on my face.

Things quieted down after Garth shut up, and we drove forward into the bowels of 7th ring of Hell (AKA Washington DC). I sat there miserably trying to close my mouth and breathe through my nose, but my body was not cooperating. I was trying to sleep, but the breathing issue prevented it from coming. Then I started to reason to myself that I didn't need to breathe through my nose. That mouth-breathing is a perfectly acceptable way to intake oxygen, and I shouldn't be hung up on it. I willed myself to sleep through the mouth-breathing, but still it wouldn't come. I finally accepted that I wasn't going to get a nap in, so I just relaxed my head and tried to focus on something else.

Mr. Happy broke my Zen moment with a "oh, oops!" Since my eyes were closed, I figured he probably cut somebody off who had a much less friendly reaction, and I didn't bother to look for confirmation. But that wasn't it. Mr. Manners was warning me about something that my body was presently incapable of detecting. Without all of my sensory faculties in line, I had no way of knowing what was happening to me. There was no olfactory detector in service to give me the heads up. And there, in my congested misery, I mouth-breathed Mr. Happy's fart.

A Latin Lesson

Yes, it's been a while. I've been vacationing around the world and just generally avoiding the commuter grind, but I'm back despite my resistance. I've actually got quite a few stories under my belt from the past few weeks, but I won't go back in time just yet. Today we move forward with a bit of a Latin lesson.

In college, I nerded out and took Latin (and I enjoyed it, so joke all you wish). Anyway, for some odd reason, there was one word that stuck out in my mind because it's also the name of a car. For me, whenever I see that car, I don't see the name, I see the translation.

In Latin, the word "audire" means "to hear." To skip ahead a few lessons, the imperative of "audire" is "audi." So, whenever I see an Audi, I read "HEAR!" OK, a more accurate modern usage would be "LISTEN!" but I always thought it was funnier to say "HEAR!"

So this shiny new "HEAR!" drove up to the line with Peroxide Barbie driving. Without getting started on that, I just have to comment on the car itself. OMG, who designed that piece of garbage car? I mean REALLY! I've been in Datsun's that were more comfortable. (My first car was a Datsun B210 that had a 2X4 holding the seat upright) I was in the backseat, and I have to say, the car itself made me miserable. Whoever designed this particular car hated people riding in the backseat.

I'm short, but when I sat in the seat, the headrest was jabbing me in that part in between your shoulder blades...you know...just below your neck. JABBING me. It was sticking WAY out and jabbing me in the back. I tried to discreetly move it up so that the "headrest" is actually where my head can rest on it, but it didn't budge! It was MISERABLE. I tried slouching down into the seat, but all that did was push my head so far forward that I was practically nosing my chest. Good lord! Cruel, cruel car designers got one over on the average family of 4 in that deal!

But, that's not the point today boys and girls. Today, we must learn the true meaning of the Latin word "audi!"

It's super early this morning when I catch a ride with the Over-processed Barbie, and she was in a bit of a hurry. As I am fumbling with the headrest, I feel her dig her Payless stilettos into the gas pedal and she started to merge onto 95. BUT WAIT, there were cars there! As she violently swerved back into the merge lane and shoved my neck into the torture device in her backseat, she softly mutters to herself "whoa." I'm thinking to myself....that's a mild understatement, but it's a respectable one. A few miles up the road, I start to settle in with my head cocked to the side to avoid the piercing pain of the jabbing headrest. But comfort is not her goal this morning. Oh no. Today, she wants to test the gods of transportation to see if they favor fake blondes. She decided that she wanted an 18-wheeler's lane more than he did, and she just got in it! He, of course, lays on the horn, and her response...."whoa."

Yeah, whoa indeed.

AT this point, my head hurts from the headrest, and the pungent, putrid smell of her jasmine air freshener was breaking through my really thick head cold and choking me to death. Her erratic driving was just making me grumpy. I started to play in my head all the Latin phrases I could remember from college, and I came up with a few. I only wish I had my Latin insult phrase book with me!

I'll share some of them with you, so if you ever find yourself in a scary commuter situation, you too can die like a nerd.

"Quid fit" = what's happening?
"Totus anctus" = in a world of hurt
"Nihil declaro" = I have nothing to declare
"Observa quo vadis, cinaede!" = watch where you're going, jerk!
"Primum non nocere" = first do no harm
and finally, my all time favorite

"qui parvum cerebrum habet stultus est" It's my favorite line from my first year Latin textbook. It's always stuck with me because I actually laughed when I translated it for the first time.

It means "he who has a small brain is stupid." Totally random right?

Anyway, I'm pretty sure that after all these years, and all this Latin I had it all wrong. "Audi!" doesn't mean "HEAR!" It actually means "OH MY GOD RUN FOR YOUR LIFE THIS IS THE WORST CAR EVER!!!!"

Next time little Miss Audi drives up, I think I'm going to shout "Die dulci fruere" and wait for the next ride.

LOOK IT UP! I'm sure you looked all the others up too!

That concludes today's Latin lesson.

Commuter Circus

Have you ever been in a situation that made you stop and just laugh because so many things were going wrong at once?

I was standing in line this morning, and very gradually I started to notice that everything was unraveling. I don't know if it's the influx of new sluggers or just Monday stupidity, but everyone was just insane this morning.

At first it was the drivers. There was a guy who drove up from the back holding up a big sign announcing his destination...written in crayon. He was waving it at all of us and yelling it out for those who can't read. He was acting inpatient that nobody was stepping out, but as far as I know, it's never a good idea to step out in front of a moving car. Two guys sort of crept up to the car as if they were afraid to get in, but it's that same old story of wanting to get to work at any cost. The driver was a nut, but they were in a hurry.

Then this "woman" drove up in her giant SUV, and stuck her head out, again, way towards the back of the line. She was apparently too impatient to wait until she got to the front of the line to call out her destination, as it expected of most drivers. So she starts saying "14th Street!" (actual names and locations are changed to protect the privacy and accuracy of this blog) But nobody moved and she got PISSED. So she, with a deep drill sergeant voice (obviously calling upon her previous career as a lesbian drill sergeant), called out 14TH STREET!!!! It was so loud, and so obnoxious that we all started laughing. Since her daily dose of estrogen had clearly not settled in yet, she started getting angry and commented "you people need to wake up!" To which a guy behind me said "next time you can bring us Starbucks." Then the real fun began. We all took turns making fun of her as she drove off.

Then another guy drives up and calls out a random street in DC that nobody has ever heard announced before. We all just sort of stood there looking at each other as everyone mentally googled a map of DC streets to figure out where he was going and if it was close to them. Someone in the back asked "how far down?" He said "anywhere." Wow, that instilled a lot of confidence in the line. Finally, after much hesitation, 2 people got in and appeared to be worried about the probability of actually getting to work with this guy.

Meanwhile, because the drivers were all off their rockers, the riders were acting as if they couldn't figure out which was was up. People were stepping out for the wrong destination while others were completely clueless which car to get into. Some people attempted to get into a car only to be ejected when it was discovered that they were going somewhere else. At one point, everyone was criss-crossing and bumping into each other trying to get to their rides. It was as if I had stepped out of reality and into a really bad comedy sketch. I kept waiting for a clown horn to go off, but I was disappointed.

My fun came to an abrupt stop when I looked down the line of cars to see HER. It was like all the kids in class goofing off and then the teacher walks in, making every heart in the room sink. She inched up in her Mercedes and all of my "friends" in the back taunted me that I was next up for a ride. Nobody wants to ride with her, and we all like to make the ride more painful by pointing out that it's not our turn that time. So, in true payback fashion, my buddies gave me a little parting taunt before I embarked on the journey to the center of commuter misery. Ironically, I even fought for the ride because some bimbo jumped out in front of me and the guy behind me. I quickly informed her that we had that ride, and she corrected herself back in the line. On a day like today I can't really blame her. Nothing was working the way it was supposed to, and I was in good humor after having poked fun at the crazy lesbian drill sergeant.

So I rode off to my boring old office in boring old DC and, despite my driver's clear lack of people skills, I had a bit of smirk on my face remembering the chaos and confusion that we were all starting our week off with....and then I fell asleep and snored and drooled all over myself.

HAPPY MONDAY!!!!!!!

Sluglot Leviathan

"during the time men live without a common power to keep them all in awe, they are in that condition which is called war; and such a war as is of every man against every man"--Thomas Hobbes, The Leviathan

Road rage is running rampant in the world today. People are stressed by the gas prices, and in DC we are additionally stressed by the increased volume of tourist commuters clogging up the roads during peak rush hour. The parking lots of all the commuter lots in the DC area are being filled to capacity earlier and earlier, so it is becoming a survival of the fittest, fastest, and most cunning drivers to get the few remaining spaces. It's like the mad rush at the Apple stores to get the new iPhone. You just have to do what you have to do to get what you want. I understand this.

However.

I don't accept that you can break the rules to get what you want. There is a reason we have rules, laws, and standards of acceptable behavior. If we didn't, our world would be chaos, and we would eventually die nasty, brutal deaths. But thanks to the forward-thinking wisdom and philosophy of great minds like John Locke and Thomas Hobbes and the influence they had on our Founding Fathers, we have a government with rules, laws, and standards of behavior.

One of those handy rules is that when you come to a stop sign, you stop and let the oncoming traffic that has the right of way proceed before you go. It's probably one of the most basic rules of driving that we all learn within days of entering driver's education classes.

As you can imagine, someone broke that rule this morning. But he didn't just break the rule. He broke it in such a way that I would have been justified in pressing the accelerator to the floor and making direct contact with his legs the next time I see him. But, true to my character, I didn't let him get away with it.

As if his driving violation wasn't bad enough, he copped an attitude with me. And he didn't even do that like a man. He used his cell phone as "cover" to talk smack about me. Well, Mr. Wiseass Coward didn't know who he was messing with this morning, because as he walked by telling his imaginary friend or mail-order bride about "some crazy woman who almost hit him in the parking lot" I made my position known.

For the record, if I had been in the wrong, I would not have gotten into an argument with this guy. But, as is usually case, I was right, and I made sure he knew that. I was not going to let him accuse me of not following the rules when it was HIS mistake.

So, there he was, hiding behind his wireless courage, walking directly behind me as I got out of my car. He wasn't trying to be subtle, so I wasn't going to be subtle either. I walked right up next to him, matched his pace, and said very clearly "it's called a fucking stop sign asshole." (yes, I cuss. It's a hobby) Caught off guard, but not willing to give up his pedestal he assumed was so high above mine, he stopped, held out his cell phone so he could "yell" and tried to answer back with "yes, and you ran it!" Hahahahaha, big mistake Jerkwad.

I very calmly (relative term) turned to him, got in his face, and informed him "if you weren't such an idiot, you would know that it's a one way stop, and you had the stop sign, not me! So go ahead and blame me, but you tried to run a stop sign, and I'd be more than happy to have a cop teach you how that works."

Then his tone changed.

And he apologized.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I thought that was a two-way stop. I didn't realize I was the only one with a stop sign. I thought you were trying to get ahead of me for a parking space." Well, I was, but I was justified. The rules were in my favor.

OK, so he was contrite. I wanted to forgive him, but I didn't care enough about him to try. The really awkward part was that since we were walking to the line together and yelling at each other, that put us in line together too. So I walked up to the line and greeted all of my friends. He knew nobody, so I played off of my apparent popularity (slight hyperbole) and continued to make him feel like an idiot. While standing in line, at least 3 people walked up and greeted me by name. I carried on a few conversations, and meanwhile he stood there breathing down my back. I could feel him back there, and he kept trying to talk to me but I wouldn't acknowledge him. Another woman came up and everyone commented on our similar choices in clothing for the day, and he tried to make the standard "memo" joke. I ignored him again.

The stars were aligned just right today, and the rides were coming at extremely, excruciatingly long intervals. We stood in line together for at least a half an hour. I acted as if he wasn't there, but I was keenly aware of his discomfort. I could tell he was trying to "make up" with me, but I am not in a place right now where I have the ability to forgive a lot of people. I just didn't think he deserved it, no matter how apologetic he was trying to be.

It......was......just......dragging.....on....and...on. I was considering taking the next ride, no matter where it was going, just to get him off my back.

He spent a lot of time looking at his shoes and trying to insert himself into my conversations. Finally, he said, "I just want to thank you. I could've gotten into an accident. I just thought you were supposed to stop."

Here's where the pre-9AM bitch in me comes out.

I turned to him, said nothing, then turned my back to him.

The afternoon-me knows it was not exactly the most friendly and forgiving way to go about it. He was truly sorry and was trying to make up for the fact that he was a complete ass. But I just couldn't forgive him. He started my day off with a violent near-miss and followed that up with cowardly 3rd-party insults and misguided blame. It brought out too much anger and frustration out in me on a day when I was trying to start fresh with the positive attitude I so desperately need right now.

So, NO, Mr. Stop Sign Runner, I don't accept your apology. Not today.

When my ride finally came, I just walked away without even a backward glance thinking to myself "bellum omnium contra omnes" (putting 4 years of Latin to use).

There is no turning back. Once we discard the rules of the road and commuter etiquette, we launch ourselves back into a state of nature that is "solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short."