I love it when people get ticked off at me because I don’t speed enough. No, really, I do. It gives me an excuse to mess with them.

This guy flipped me off on the way to work today because I was only going 30 in a 25 zone. Apparently, he would have preferred that I run over a kid or two. Now, I just cannot let that stand, so I flipped on my right blinker and slowed down as if I was about to turn. When he did exactly what I was expecting him to do, that is, cross the double-yellow lines to pass me, I sped back up again and blared my horn at him. Good, he was now in front of me. Step 2 of my plan could begin.

He sped away, but I’d driven that road every morning for more than a year, so I knew that I was going to be right behind him at the next stop sign, and I knew that it was going to be a long wait. When we got to the intersection, I pulled out my cell phone and pretended to dial 911. While I was putting on my show, I pointed to him, then at my phone, and I mouthed the word “police”. I was big-time convincing. I’d act annoyed, look like I was raising my voice, tilt down my sunglasses and mouth the letters on his license plate, pull the phone away an inch as if to hang up and then snap it back and mouth, “I’m sorry, what?” I was brilliant. I deserved a Tony for my performance.

That was supposed to be the end of the plot, to just make him wonder for the rest of the day, “Did he really call the police? I’d better be careful!” And then he’d weep and vow to change his wicked ways. Not the best revenge, I admit. Fortunately (yes, fortunately), a police car drove by just a moment later and kept on going. It wasn’t concrete evidence that I had been bluffing, because only thirty seconds or so had passed since I had put down my phone, but it was enough to convince this guy and blow my act.

We got to a red light with me still behind him. He poked his head out and yelled back at me, probably something along the lines of, “That police car drove right by and didn’t do anything.” I pointed to my ears and shook my head and put on my “What was that?” eyebrow furl. I begged fate to make him do what I was hoping he would do, and he did - he got out of his car and walked back to me.

I sized him up real quick, just to be safe. He was about my height, but in much better physical shape, and his license plate said that he was in the National Guard - ill boding, perhaps, however, his legs were shorter than mine, and since he would be more likely to use his hands in a fight and I would be more likely to use my feet (black belt in Taekwon Do, thank you very much), I decided that if it came to it, I could take him. But that was not part of the plan.

I turned up my radio nice and loud as he walked up to my closed window. He yelled something to me. I held up a finger for him to wait a moment while I rolled the window down. He yelled again. I said, “Ooh, sorry, hold on, didn’t hear that either,” and turned down the radio. Finally, still yelling, he told me, “You’d better call them back, asshole, because they drove right by me!”

“That was a state trooper, actually. I called the locals.” I continued to argue with him, chewing up as much time as I could. “Oh, grow up, you’re just sore because I wasn’t speeding enough for you! Hey, excuse me if I don’t like mowing down children on my way to work in the morning! By the way, the light is green now.” And then I pressed my hand firmly down on the center of my steering wheel, allowing the horn to finish speaking my mind for me, though I added some input of my own, mostly made-up, nonsensical combinations of various curses. He sprinted back to his car and jumped in. I laughed and waved and mouthed, “I love you.”

Sadly, he didn’t turn out to work at the same place as me, because then I could have gotten him to hit me, which would have cost him his job, but overall, I was quite pleased with how my morning commute went.

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