I Hope I At Least Get A Cool Rental

An open letter to the moron who rear-ended me this weekend:

Hi Idiot!
I'm sorry I didn't stick around with my husband to take down your information, but I was pretty sure that being in your immediate vicinity would have resulted in a bit of bloodshed. See, ramming into my truck while traveling down the freeway at 75 miles per hour was bad enough. But when you tried to explain yourself by sheepishly claiming that I was in your "blind spot" you took things one step too far. I was IN FRONT OF YOU. IMMEDIATELY IN FRONT OF YOU. The only way I could have been in your blind spot is if you are, in fact, legally blind. In which case, I don't suspect you should be driving at all, now, should you?

And while we're on the subject, continuing to drive off like nothing was wrong until I chased your ass down? Was poor form. It's not my fault you have a depth perception issue. I didn't request an ass-ramming (not from you, anyway.) So don't make me hunt you down, yelling at Oscar to take down your license plate number so I could call the cops and let them nail you for a hit-and-run. Just because I'm good at being a stark raving bitch doesn't mean I like being a stark raving bitch.

So, please, the next time you decide to be an impatient ass and speed into the next lane before you're completely clear of the one you (and I) are in, remember to 1) plan ahead and come up with a better excuse for being a moron and 2) pull over immediately, lest your next victim go all ballistic on your ass.

Whew. I'm so glad we had this little chat. I feel so much better having gotten that off my chest. Now, you take care. You're going to need all of your energy to deal with the shitstorm the insurance companies are going to rain down upon you.

Warm Regards,
Cymber