To the Girl that Flipped me off in Traffic

You were the one in the newer, silver BMW on Pleasant Hill Road during rush hour traffic on Friday. If you'll recall, I was sitting there in bumper-to-bumper traffic happily munching on my pre-sliced mango pieces while listening to that new song from the Ting Tings they won’t stop playing on the radio. It was then that I caught movement in the corner of my vision.

I turned my head to see your car way too close to mine and your face plastered against your window. You were flipping me off and mouthing something that looked like “Move, ass-face”. I guess you probably weren’t just mouthing it but I couldn’t hear you as my music was on pretty loud and both of our windows were rolled up.

What did you want me to do? Where was I to go in bumper to bumper traffic? I am literally trapped between three cars and a wall of cement. There is nowhere for me to go.

I liked your hair. It was a dirty blonde set-up that came down to your shoulders and perfectly framed your face.

My lane started going a bit faster than yours and so I pulled up ahead of you. I could hear you honking and in the rear-view mirror saw you doing what I can only describe as the “Angry Driver Head-Bang”. You almost hit your forehead on the steering wheel a couple times.

Your lips were thick and juicy, your lip gloss making them shimmer in the golden afternoon sun.

I watched in fear as I saw you notice the 1/3 of a car length opening between myself and the driver behind me. My mouth lay open in disbelief as you wedged yourself between us, forcing the poor 80 year old lady in her Honda civic to slam on her breaks. Her giant old-people sunglasses fell off her face.

Your eyes were deep blue, the same color as the tie my boss wears on Fridays.

I really like that tie.

You started tailgating me, even as the pace of traffic started to pick up. You began the head bang again and I decided to take the next opportunity to get over and out of your way. I saw a space and started merging over. I guess I wasn’t getting over fast enough for you because you put two tires up on the curb and passed me anyway. You weren’t even looking at me as you drove by. You merely had your middle finger to the sky and kept it pointing at me as you passed, even though you had to crank your arm over the passenger seat in order to continue flipping me off through the back seat window.

If you’re reading this, please contact me. I don’t know where you were going in such a hurry, or how could possibly think you’d make it there on time in Bay Area rush hour traffic, but I’d really, really, really like to share some of my mango slices with you.