Deflated

Getting to and from my office generally sucks. Between construction and the interesting layout of one-way roads in Phoenix, I have yet to find the "optimal" route to my workplace once I've gotten off the freeway (I've got the freeway part down, though, as I mentioned the other day).

The route home sucks extra, because there's really only one open and useable road to get out of the area. From this road, I can either go well out of my way to avoid three gnarly intersections, or suck it up and dive into the fray.

Most days I choose the mosh pit.

Usually, I give the other drivers the benefit of the doubt for this hellish half-mile, because it truly is screwed up and most everyone does the best they can to deal with the weird merges and keep traffic moving.

The other day though, some entitled prick in a 300-series BMW sped up to keep me from getting over as traffic merged down to one lane. He saw me, there was plenty of room for me, he just didn't want me in front of him, I guess.

So, anyway, I get in behind this tool and roll merrily along to my left turn. Traffic was crawling, and I got into the wide-open left turn lane with, shall we say, excessive enthusiasm. I zipped past the BMW and muttered something eloquent like, "Ha ha, dickweed."

Then the stoplight turned red and I had to stop and wait instead of turning left and hauling ass towards victory and glory.

It was kind of an anti-climax.