I’m a ranter. It’s a sad, but true, fact.
If something annoys me or aggravates me, I rant. Typically, they’re pointless soliloquies that only serve to vent my frustrations. Such as this morning when the idiot in front of me on I-40 slammed on his brakes for absolutely no reason in the world and I used all the breath in my lungs to chew him out with phrases such as “Are you serious? There isn’t even anyone in front of you! Are you trying to kill us all? Where’d you get your license? A cracker-jack box? IQ tests should be required of all drivers. You, sir, would fail miserably. I’m certain of it. Idiot.”
Ranting isn’t the greatest thing in the world. I have friends who are offended greatly by it. I tell them to ride with other people or make new friends.
Such as the incident with Beth on the way back from a bachelorette party in Memphis:
There was a very ignorant individual who kept weaving in and out of traffic. Typically, his weaves were directly in front of me – thus effectively cutting me off, about every 4 to 5 miles.
My friend Rebecca and I are both ranters. And, it just so happens that we were driver and front seat passenger for this trip. This was bad. Very bad. It allowed us to feed off one another.
So, every time ignoramus cut me off, we both launched into tirades about idiot male drivers and their inability to notice others on the road.
Beth finally loses it: “Why don’t you both shut up? What good does it do to yell at the moron who can’t drive? All it serves to do is annoy the people in the car with you.”
I noticed a couple of the other passengers for our trip nodding along in agreement.
You would think the fear of alienating my friends would be enough to shut me up. But, instead of stemming my rant, it caused another one: “Well, if you guys have such a problem with it, maybe you should drive once in a while. It’s not like I enjoy being the taxi-driver at all times. Yes, I have the largest vehicle, but that doesn’t automatically mean I should have to drive. First of all, I get sick of paying for all the gas. Second of all, it wouldn’t kill us to split up and drive two vehicles every now and again. Let’s face it, 8 females in one automobile is a bit too much estrogen for anyone. Particularly after 3 days and 2 nights in the same hotel room. Say one more thing about how I choose to act in my own vehicle and we can pull over and you people can hitchhike back to Little Rock. See how much you like that.”
I’m not proud of this trait. Not at all. I’ve tried to alter it. Really, I have. But it is to no avail.
I’m a ranter at heart. And if this is one of my few vices, I’m sure you will forgive me.
Or ride with someone else.
I promise that I'm working harder at making my rants INTERNAL only.