GUESS HOW MUCH I LOVE TAXI DRIVERS?

I’m driving along Bealy Ave, heading homewards after yet another shit party experience. I stop at the Bealy/Barbadoes intersection, lights are red. The arrow turns to green, I put my car into gear and before I can even take off the taxi behind me is tooting his horn. Asshole!
Naturally I give him the finger in my rear view mirror, then drive at about 40kph as close to the centre of the road as I can get, to further piss him off. After much revving and intimidating driving he overtakes me and speeds off into the distance. Now I’m *really* angry. I slam my foot on the gas pedal ~ resulting in a very sedate acceleration attempt by my little wee car. There’s no fucking chance that I’ll catch up with him before the end of the road, but I try anyway. I’m determined to track him to his destination and then abuse him or give him the "irresponsible driver, poor little me" [hah] story, I haven’t yet chosen which. I’m swinging between self-righteous and just fucking PISSED!
Unfortunately I lose him after a corner (how the hell can I keep up with the tosser when he’s going 80+kph?) and now I’m totally pissed off because I didn’t even see what company he was working for, and therefore can’t ring up and get him in trouble. CRAP!
And that was the highlight of my night… how depressing. Thoughts running through my head at the aforementioned party (why? Why do I still go to these things?) were along the lines of "Yay, I have work tomorrow!" …at least I love my job, because my social life at the moment is abysmal. It pretty much consists of an occasional visit with Dana (instant coffee [ick] and me listening to her latest boy-dilemmas) and being cancelled on by the dear grumpy insomniac, or seeing him and feeling shit.
Thank fuck for the Piko girls!