Who is going to drive you home, you raging bloody lunatic

Yesterday I was tailgated by a young girl in a Toyota Rav4. Despite the fact I was actually a little over the speed limit, this slapper felt that I was taking up far too much of her precious time and not only tailgated me but also give me the one finger salute as she passed by. I couldn't help but wonder what important meeting this low level administrator had to rush off to. Did the photocopier need more toner? Might the printer require paper? The boss a sandwich and coke? Perhaps I'll never know but what I do know is that in my city (Brisbane) the worst drivers on the road fall into the female, 18-24, demographic.

Now of course I have no actual stats to back this up, this is a blog (that nobody reads) and not a current affairs program, but having lived here for three years I am in no doubt. Please do not misunderstand me however; I am not saying that they are necessarily bad drivers in terms of ability; they just seem to be the most impatient and the most aggressive.

It has become so bad that whenever I see a Suzuki Swift weaving in and out of lanes, or a Hyundai with Playboy seat covers (yay for feminism!) pull up next to me, I feel a sort evil masculine monster take hold. I want to yell at this idiot in a death trap, and shake her until she considers other road users. I have a strange desire to ask her if she thinks its cool to kill someone while driving, cooler even then pink Playboy seat covers. I yearn to remind her that the only reason she beat me at the lights in her cute little Yaris is because I wasn't racing. I never race, that's for paid professionals, not tired and cranky drivers like me.

Instead I say nothing and wish that I could work from home.