Can I Kill A Soccer Dad And Get Away With It?

I'm a day early for People I Hate, but I ran into two nominees tonight. Brace yourselves, kids: I'm a little salty.

So, I'm coming home from PT and I turn onto Roosevelt Boulevard. I stay in my assigned lane during the turn, as some tool is getting dangerously close to the Saturn. I'm thinking, "This arse-hole is out of his lane, and he's gonna sideswipe me."

He keeps coming, so I speed up. He gets fully into my lane behind me, and lays on the horn. I try to ignore this toad, but then he starts shouting out his window. He jumps out of his lane, guns the engine, and gets beside me. When he does, he, um, "tells me I'm #1."

At this point, I am ready to run him off the road.

Logic wins out, and I try to ignore the tool again. He doesn't stop giving me the finger and screaming, so I go to my last resort. I break out the shield. Spooked by "The Man," the arse-hole makes the next turn, never to be seen again. Douchebag.

Immediately thereafter, I am driving Kyle to soccer practice. I'm still in a murderous rage, but since The Boy is in the car, I try and relax. Then, it happens.

The guy in front of me pulls over to park at the field. He pulls a good four car lengths up from the first car in line, leaving me room. I take advantage, and pull in behind the guy, leaving his about, oh, three car lengths to park. The guy throws his car into reverse, guns the engine, and misses hitting the front of my car by inches. I don't honk. I don't scream. I don't discharge my firearm. I figure since my FOP plates are a target for tools like this one and the previous douche, it's not worth the complaint.

Sidebar, your honor: For the record, this is what happens in Philadelphia. People see a vehicle with FOP tags, and they try to press your buttons with even the slightest provocation. They figure that if you get into a shouting match with them, they'll file a complaint with Internal Affairs, no matter how ludicrous. If they say I pointed a bazooka at them, the stellar investigators at IAB will believe them before they even hear the officer's side of the story. The moral is: never give these people a reason to file a bogus complaint.

Anyway, I ignore this bastard, but he won't leave it alone. He gets out of his car - with his 5-year old child in tow - comes to my window, and shouts, "I almost backed into you, moron! Next time, I won't stop!"

At the end of my rope, I simply feigned cowardice: "Oh no, not that!"

The bastard threw a few obscenities my (and Kyle's) way before taking his little jerkoff kid to practice. It took all of my energy not to smash the guy's windows. But I was good.

Besides, in fifteen years it'll be great when I lock up his kid for turning tricks for Pop Tarts.

(Linked at OTB's Beltway Traffic Jam.)