  &emailalert=no&email=adgrant@indiana.edu&url=http://closeproximity.blogspot.com&name=Proximity&bgcolor=003399&fcolor=FFFFFF&link=FFFFCC&words=comments&title=Comments &width=350&height=350"> Do you ever have that not-so-fresh feeling? Sorry, just had to say it. Rather, do you ever have that I'm-feeling-fresh-in-my-car-and-I'm-gonna-see-if-this-car-maneuver-works feeling? Yesterday, I was driving, high off a final interview for an assistant position at an amazing art school out here, to where I found myself smack dab in the "right turn only" lane. If it'd been within my first year out here, I would've gladly turned right and figured out where I could turn around.
Quickly though, one realizes that blocks in L.A. can be longer than the unemployment line, which ultimately leaves you stranded on some one-way street with nothing but a headache and a hot car full of regret. Besides, everyone else weasels their way back into the straight lane, so why can't I! One car passes, then two, and now the people behind me are getting angry at the four door gray car with Indiana plates, who clearly doesn't know where she's going or what she's doing. Yes, two years out here, and I still have IN plates. It's cheaper that way. Little do the legitimate Cali drivers know, I've been a P.A. out here, averaging 600 miles a week all over L.A. into the Valley and back again into Hollywood, learning every road along the way.
So I slipped up just this once...let me in dammit! A champagne colored Mercedes is going just at the rate to NOT let me in, so instead of waiting, I'm ticked off that for some reason this guy doesn't want to help an Indiana girl out. Instead I floor it, merge left, and revel in the fact that I beat the Mercedes Man who clearly wasn't in a giving mood that day.
At the stoplight, I glance back in my rearview mirror to see the Mercedes Man (MM) flipping out, making gestures at how insane it was that I merged in front of him, and just having an all around shit fit. Normally I am against flipping the bird in traffic, as you never know who's packin' heat, but this time I just let the finger fly, and boy was that the wrong thing to do. As the light turns green, I proceed en route to my local bank, only to find that after multiple blocks passed, and MM is still on my tail.
At another stoplight, he's sticking his head out the window screaming something. At this point, I'm a little bit scared, wondering if this was that one person that you shouldn't flip off today. I think this whole event had less to do with me, and more to do with his bad day that he was choosing to take out on little ol' me. "If he turns into the bank parking lot, take that back exit you know will lose him," I tell myself.
Sure enough, he follows me into the parking lot. "Shit," I yell as I floor it through the parking lot, behind the library, down the alley, only to bottom out my car going back onto the street. He was not far behind. This is where knowing these streets came into play. I veered around a car parallel parking, and nestled myself in front of a parked car and beside a car going through the light. "Turn right, turn right, turn right," I chant as I'm waiting for through traffic to go as I'm waiting to...you guessed it, turn right. I safely turn right, only to find a street sweeper taking its dear sweet time. MM is now behind me again, making his move to get next to me. I locked the doors and jotted down his front license plate number in my rearview mirror, all the while calculating my next move.
I was running out of moves. This is NOT the way my afternoon was supposed to go, and I can't believe this ass is really following me. Is it my fault for merging, or am I absolved due to the fact that this sketchball is now tailing and chasing me? As all of these thoughts race through my head, he squeezes in next to me, stops, and yells in broken English, "Vat ahr yoo doing, clazy lady?!!! " At this point, I'm laughing, as this guy is just a harmless prick who doesn't let a woman push him around. After all of that, THAT is what he says to me?! In one fluid motion, I took the pad of paper that clearly has the make and model, along with the license plate number of his car and SLAMMED it against my window, letting him know that if he continues to screw with me, I'll call him in.
He did the finger wag one last time, and merged left in front of me. How fitting. I saw him to the light, to where he turned right and left in a huff. At this point, my adrenaline is pumping, and I'm disoriented as hell. I wasn't sure if I should go to the bank just yet, so I drove around for a little bit.
After driving a few blocks, who blindly cuts me off, but MM. Screw the bank, I'm cashed. Off to my apartment I go. What's the moral of the story kids? No, not that you should've wasted three minutes reading elsewhere. You can take the crazy guy out of his German car, but you can't take the middle finger off the German girl. 
