Once Upon A Time in Dooceland

Heather tells a great story. Below is just the beginning:

A couple days ago I was coming home from the grocery store when I stopped at a four-way intersection. The guy headed in my direction ran the stop sign, and the woman to my right whose turn it was to go entered the middle of the intersection, her hackles SO OUT OF CONTROL, and honked her horn for about 30 seconds straight. Her face got all distorted, and she looked at me and at the other car waiting across from me like, “Can you believe he just did that? HUH? HUH? CAN YOU? I CANNOT BELIEVE IT, so I’m going to sit here for a few more seconds and honk my horn so that the whole world can tune in to my disbelief.”

At first I thought it was funny — the horn-honking woman, not the guy who ran the stop sign because that’s never funny. He could have hurt if not killed someone, but he didn’t and he was at least a half a mile away at this point. There wasn’t much we could do about his, ahem, transgression against our legal system, but the honking woman WANTED HIM TO PAY. After about the 16th or 17th second of the honk the funny part about it turned into sadness. Why was she so angry, that poor woman WHOM I WAS GOING TO STRANGLE WITH MY BARE HANDS IF SHE DIDN’T GO ALREADY?

The scene finally ended, no one run over or strangled, and I looked at Leta in the rear view mirror and said, “Some people, Leta. They live life like an Internet troll, wanting everyone to know how angry they are about someone else while they themselves ARE BLOCKING TRAFFIC.” And I was proud of myself, proud for coming up with that obviously brilliant metaphor, proud that I had imparted that wisdom to my daughter even if she wasn’t paying attention and was eating her shoelace, her foot pulled up to her face.

Dooce

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