Yesterday, I made a decision that I had to start killing all the other drivers in Massachusetts.  If I could not kill them, at least I had to start torturing them.  I experienced what could be described as a mental breakdown (epiphany for those in California) when this woman in a Hyundai refused to move from the left lane of the highway, and insisted that I travel 70mph.  I broke.  I could not pass her, and she would not move.  It was a stalemate, and one I am not proud of.  It ended when I finally put my car in neutral and let it glide to a halt in the high-speed lane.  The only reason I was able to go on, was the joy I felt from pissing off the drivers behind me.

I understand that drivers in Boston (and surrounding towns) are mentally deficient.  I know that most are inhumanly cruel, psychotic, and are completely unable to communicate except by using their middle finger, or the horn.  I know Boston drivers are not just bad, they are inconceivably, ludicrously horrendous.  I have lived in Massachusetts for most of my life, and I also know it is not something that is taught.  It is a disease that is imbedded in our DNA, a genetic disorder like Down’s Syndrome or Schizophrenia.

Driving in Massachusetts is a dance with death, where cars careen across the highway at top speed, and where drivers are flailing out of windows, screaming obscenities.  Every time I get behind a wheel in Boston, I start remembering that I don’t have a will, and that I wanted to see Paris before I died.  One single trip to a friend’s house can force you to witness hundreds of driving infractions.  When you finally arrive, you have this insatiable need to hurt someone.

People in this state drive like moles, never looking up, never able to see anything.  They think that no matter what they do, they have a god given right to do it.  What is worse is that they are sure they have the skill to pull off any stunt, and laugh off every obstruction in front of them.  Brakes are not required here, since it’s better to swerve than waste a good brake pad.  In fact, the proper way to stop someone for tailgating is to quickly downshift, so they aren’t warned by your brake lights.  It is slalom driving at its best, and most of your time is spent weaving between three-abreast parking and insane pedestrians who wrongly feel they have the right to walk.

In Massachusetts, it is our duty to create as much mayhem as possible for the other drivers.  Each driver is required to pull out in traffic to block oncoming cars, banned from ever using turn signals (extra points are awarded if you have broken tail lights), and drive at maniacal speeds on residential roadways.  If you see a parking space, you park in the street next to it, and make sure the available parking spot is unusable to anyone else.  If you are from out of state, beware.  It is perfectly legal for us to race by you on the inside lane, get in front, and then slam on the brakes.  In Massachusetts, there is only one rule: Never let the other guy know you see him.

Streets in Boston were once cow trails that were paved over.  In Beacon Hill, the streets are the width of a very thin cow, and all are one way.  If you miss a turn, you may have to drive to New Hampshire to turn around.  However, the alleyways are great for high-speed spirited driving.  If you open a map of Boston, you will realize the streets are actual size.  It is a small city, full of cars and bicycles intent on killing you.

I understand the “rules” to Boston driving well, but cannot understand why other people refuse to cooperate.  Everyone knows the left lane is for 90mph or higher.  Yellow lights mean that you should speed up and brace for the inevitable impact that will occur.  Rotaries (we invented them) are to be entered at top speed with your eyes closed.  Once inside, it is your job to prevent anyone else from entering, while trying to slam everything in the car up against the right door panel.

Everything that is yellow in our state is just a suggestion.  Yield signs, yellow curbs, and yellow centerlines are just guidelines, and not meant to be followed.  When pulling up to a tollbooth, I know to always aim for one, and then swerve to another three lanes over at the last minute.  It is expected here, and it tells the drivers behind you that you mean business.  Even old people, who normally drive slowly, are insane.  If they are not crashing through the local Dunkin Donuts, they are careening through busy intersections at top speed.

Don’t get me wrong, I love this state, and consider it my home.  I love the fact that we drive 80mph through the worst snowstorms without concern.  I love that we accept the fact that we will be broadsided as soon as we leave our driveway.  I love the slalom driving in Boston, or the sight of an old Honda riding on three temporary spare tires.  It is just that I cannot drive slowly, especially when someone is in front of me.  Highways are a competition, and I want to win.  In Boston, we take our driving as seriously as we take our sports.

Article courtesy of Chris Raymond
Photos courtesy of Google Images, thisisbroken.com, and Ichizen.com