When I first started driving, I was quick to flip the bird. I was living in Spokane and there were enough people that it just wasn’t
likely that the one person (OK, several persons) I flipped off on any given day would turn out to be someone I knew or someone who knew my parents. And then I returned to Smalltown, Idaho. Since I’d had the misfortune of ramming my little blue Subaru into a tree and a fetish for bumperstickers, my car was easily recognizable. But I was dumb enough to keep flipping the bird, ignorant of the fact that just about everyone in town knew my grandparents and, by association, knew me. One day a guy in a motorhome, towing a boat, pulled in front of me on Highway 95. He cut me off and I had to slam on my brakes so I wouldn’t hit him. Pissed, I honked my horn to get his attention and then drove past with my middle finger extended. I didn’t give the incident a second thought until my grandparents’ phone rang that evening. Their good friend Louie wanted to let them know about this girl in a blue Subaru — Mommie Dearest/BrodH20.
Question: I know you’ve never flipped anyone off, HBOer; so, I’ll phrase this question carefully: Has someone ever flipped you off in traffic (and how did you respond)?