Oops, Sorry Mate

I was driving up Victoria Street on the way home and, as usual, it was busy. A van was turning right in front of me. The car directly in front of me was a lousy driver who, I suspect, was on their phone and driving slow. So the two of us went to the left around the van turning right. The traffic in front of the van was banked up from the front of his car, so me and useless in front of me kind of squeezed around in front of him. I was concentrating on the van and I was concentrating on the idiot car in front of me. 

We finally moved forward. Unfortunately, or not, there was ute coming out of the side street, who I didn’t see, or I did but didn’t care. I was concentrating on other things and I didn’t let him in. It was hot and we all had our car windows open and the next thing I knew the ute driver was abusing me. Yabber, yabber. I’d moved forward I didn’t really hear what he was saying.

The traffic in front was banked up, so I decided to turn right at a street further up Victoria Street. The next thing Mr ute driver was next to me and yelling at me still. I turned to say sorry to him, but you know he was on a stop sign and I had the right of way, and as I looked into his angry face I really meant to say “sorry mate,” but it came out as, “Listen here buddy, I don’t fucken care if you live or die, mate,” instead. He started tooting his horn, as the traffic coming towards me broke into a gap, and I turned right leaving Mr About-to-have-a-stroke behind.

Surely being let into a main road from a side street with a stop sign is a privilege not a right?