Tonight, my cousin L. picked me up and we went to see the new Jarmusch film, Broken Flowers. We'd just gotten on Lake Shore Drive, and L. wanted to get out of the right lane. She saw a break in the next lane over and sidled over, enraging the man who was now waaay too close behind us. And lo! Mr. Old Dude in a Mercedes Convertible was filled with the rage of the road. Oh, the cursing! The angry, angry faces! The muttering that only he could hear! The gesticulating! L. gave him a "whaddaya want from me?" hand gesture and avoided accelerating to close the gap in front of us. This, of course, served to enrage Mr. Old Dude further. Now, he had to exit a mere seven blocks after we moved into his lane, so he had to get out of the lane anyway. He did his best to speed ahead in the right lane, which allowed us to see his vanity plates: some abbreviated version of ADDS AN INCH.
Yes, Mr. Old Dude apparently hews to the theory that driving a sports car effectively adds an inch to his penis. As he curved away (ooh! pun!) in the exit, he continued his pointless ranting and gesticulating at us. As the passenger, I was free to return his glance and hold up my fingers in the universal "you're tiny" hand sign, index finger and thumb an inch apart.
You might think the story ends here, but you would be so wrong. We continue on Lake Shore Drive, and a Prius pulls up next to us in the right lane. The guy in that car has witnessed all that has transpired, and he looks into L.'s car, smiling and relaying the universal "you're tiny" sign in solidarity.
Isn't it beautiful when strangers can come together to mock the unreasonable?
P.S. I think Mr. Old Dude might have been experiencing an upward fluctuation in his testosterone level this evening. At least that's my theory.
P.P.S. The movie was good; it was funny and somewhat touching. But for sheer entertainment value for your dollar, you can't beat The Aristocrats.